


Coming Home

by lookingforatardis, NiciJones



Series: Home [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, More angst, Pining, Post Oscars, Separation, Slow Burn, it's an angsty fic prepare yourselves, they love each other a lot but it's complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 123,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiciJones/pseuds/NiciJones
Summary: It starts when Timmy feels like he has let the CMBYN Crew down by losing at the Oscars and spirals out of control with an accidental confession until the two learn how to be loved by the other and finally find what they've been looking for in so many ways: HOME.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel as though I should preface this with the fact that Nici and I passed little bits of writing back and forth, each of us writing (for the most part) only one character's side. This is a monster fic, and it basically is the definition of a slow burn (despite the start seeming like it wouldn't be). Anyways, enjoy, let us know what you think!

“If you knew how lonely my life has been  
And how long I've been so alone  
And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along  
And change my life the way you've done”

_Feels Like Home_ \- Edwina Hayes

* * *

 

 

"I wanted to win. I really did. I'm sorry. I let you guys down," Timmy looks down, doesn’t want Armie to see the tears. Everyone had known Oldman would win but that doesn’t make it sting any less. They had snubbed Armie already. He had wanted the opportunity to go up there and explain to everyone how this all wouldn’t have happened without Luca, without Sufjan and of course, without Armie. There’s no Elio without Oliver.

"It's okay, hey, it's not your fault,” Armie says, trying to soothe him. His hand goes to Timmy’s hair, brushing it down, calming him like he did from time to time. “I am so proud of you, we're _all_ so proud. You were incredible, it's just politics, Timmy," he says, hoping it’ll reassure him, knowing it probably won’t. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard.

Tears form in Timmy’s eyes. This was supposed to be the most important night for them. He had wanted to honour them by winning despite the chances being against him. He had just wanted to show—to show Armie—to show him—"I fucking love you.” His hands fist in the labels of Armie’s red jacket. “Fuck, I love you." Timmy repeats feeling tears fall now.

"Timmy just breathe,” Armie tells him. He’d seen him have anxiety attacks before, he knew what they looked like and he could see this turning into one if he didn’t calm him down quickly. “I love you, too, I'm so proud of you, you were amazing, we love you so much," anything to calm him, to stop thinking about what Timmy’s just told him, what he’s just confessed. _Love_. He knew, but hearing it was different.

Timmy tries to do as he’s told. _Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._ Then, as his thoughts slowly clear a little, he realises what Armie just said. "We?" He asks scandalised and pulls away from him, looking for answers in his eyes. What does this possibly mean? Didn’t he understand. Angrily he pushes him away, doesn’t want him near if he doesn’t get it. Timmy _knew_ he didn’t want him. He had just said it because—Well, maybe he’d hoped but obviously Armie doesn’t understand which means he doesn’t even consider Timmy _being in love with him._  "You don't get it, do you? You don't get it at all.” He tells him and shakes his head, disappointed but not surprised. What a mood tonight.

"No, I…” Armie pauses when he sees the pain in Timmy’s eyes. Armie had been told about Timmy’s feelings, warned even. He had known for some time, but always hesitated to accept it. Accepting his feelings meant inevitably having to deal with his own. He sighs, looks down. “Timmy I get it... I know..."

"No, you fucking don't!" The tears are back, suddenly and forcefully. Timmy feels betrayed. After all that has happened tonight—He sighs, tries to collect himself. "Just leave it be." He tells Armie and himself. They had no chance. After this was all over it would get better. It had to. Timmy would be able to move on and Armie would forget him—he stops his thoughts because he knows he’s just going to start crying again.

"Talk to me, hey don't do this,” Armie says, resisting the urge to hold him; he worries it might make things worse. He can tell Timmy’s shutting down and he wants desperately to make things better, to help him feel better. “I'm right here, I'm with you,” it’s the closest thing he can say in this moment to anything that could possibly matter. “What's wrong?"

Timmy wipes his eyes and tries to control himself. Armie didn’t have to know the whole truth. He could still just believe he loved him like a brother. He just had to play it down a little. "No, no. Go back to Elizabeth. I'm fine. Really." He assures him.

"Stop it, I'm not doing that and we both know it. Talk to me.” Armie watches him pull away, literally wipe the emotion from his face. Armie feels torn; he knows this was a dangerous topic for them to discuss, but the look on Timmy’s face worries him to no end. He pulls his hands back gently. "Talk to me, Timmy, I'm not going anywhere," he whispers.

Timmy sighs, knowing that he can’t resist whenever Armie asks like that. He has to give him some sort of answer. "It's just—You know. I'm gonna miss this. It's exhausting. But I'm gonna miss it." He explains and knows in an instant it will not be enough. He looks down at his shoes. How much can he say without giving himself away? "You." He adds and it should be innocent enough, bros can miss each other, right? But he can’t stop the way his voice breaks and he sounds entirely too quiet for it to be just ‘bros missing bros’.

Armie can’t stop the chill from running down his spine. "You're not going to lose me...you know that right?" Armie touches his shoulder and lets his hand move to his hair, carefully winding through it to soothe him. "We're still going to talk and visit each other..." his voice trails off. He’s not sure what to say, how to make it better. Timmy’s _I love you_ holds more weight in this context and it made him nervous for them both.

Timmy leans into his touch, grateful for it. It made the panicking thoughts less loud. "I know. I know. But it's not going to be the same. You're gonna do projects, I'm gonna do projects. Life happens and before you know it we haven't talked to each other for a month, or half a year and you're too embarrassed to call." He says picking up speed with every word he’s saying. He had been thinking about this a lot lately and it felt good to get it off his chest.

"Do you really think that'll happen? Seriously—hey, look at me.” He waits for a minute, watches for Timmy to look up. Imagining any time passing without Timmy playing some role in his life was impossible. Didn’t he know that by now? “Do you think I'd let that happen? We've been good for a year and a half of other projects, man. Why do you think this will be different? I'm not going to stop calling, why would you think that?" Sometimes Timmy’s insecurities weighed on Armie; he felt he needed to help him see what he saw.

Timmy feels the tears in his eyes again. Didn’t Armie see? Didn’t he understand? “Because—because you got a family. And you’re such a great actor and I—I’m just that stupid kid who fell in love with you.” Timmy’s breath hitches when he realises what he just said and his heartbeat stumbles. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please pretend I never did.” He begs wiping his eyes.

Armie’s heart starts to race at the confession. "Timmy,” he stops himself, debating whether or not to start this with him, if it would help anything. He sees the panic in his teary eyes and feels himself crumble. “Oh god, they were right, _shit_.” He’d been warned so many times about this, about Timmy being in love with him, warnings not to break his heart, that he was further gone than Armie anticipated, etc. He swallows hard and pulls Timmy to his chest. "Timmy, I...I…” Suddenly he feels at a loss for words. “You're not some stupid kid..." his voice trails off.

Timmy sniffles but frowns at Armie’s words. “They? Who are you talking about??” He feels confused. He just revealed to Armie that he’s in love with him and his first reaction is to think _what exactly?_ Who was right? Timmy can feel himself starting to shake now. The emotional exhaustion settling over him.

"No one, I shouldn't..." _Shouldn’t have said anything_. Armie winces, pulls back a little. "Luca, just...luca and…” It was no use. If he went to Luca and asked, he’d find out everyone knew anyways. Armie sighs. “And Michael. And Elizabeth. It's nothing, really." He realizes this probably wasn’t what Timmy wanted to hear. He reaches out and touches his shoulder, trying to make up for it.

“What?! They all… what?!” He’s devastated. Hurt but mostly devastated how they’d known and just told Armie. “Who else? Who else fucking knew?!” He pushes Armie against the chest again trying to make him feel the same hurt.

"Timmy, I...I asked them. It's not their fault." He's backtracking, he sees the tears, the frustration, he feels it too. "I don't know who else knows. I didn't even...know. Not really. I wasn't sure"

Timmy buries his face in his hands. “I’m so—I feel so humiliated right now. You had a reason to ask. Don’t—don’t try to deny this.”

"Deny what?" Armie's afraid of the answer. He rubs a circle on Timmy's back, the desire to calm him down overwhelming.

“That you knew! That some part of your brain was like ‘Oh shit this boy is love with me. Better ask all these people if this is true!” Timmy shakes his head. “Is she angry? God, she’s definitely angry. Was that why you were all lovey-dovey lately?”

A sigh, perhaps relief, perhaps anxiety, leaves Armie’s lips. "I don't—no. A little, I don't know. Not at you, though." _Lovey-dovey._ He sighs, dropping his hand from Timmy's back into his lap feeling slightly defeated and entirely caught. "I didn't think you'd notice..." He’d _hoped_ he hadn’t, hoped he didn’t even think to notice, because at least if that was the case, Armie wouldn’t have to worry about hurting his heart.

“Really? You went from ignoring her to kissing her ass at every single opportunity. Tell me how you could’ve been _more_ obvious?” Timmy shakes his head. “Who else would she be angry at? I can’t believe—we were talking the whole time during the ceremony.” There’s a flash of realisation in his eyes. “Was that why you held my hand during Mystery of Love? Pity?” He spits the word out like it’s something disgusting. “Sympathy?!”

" _Pity_? Are you serious?" Armie looks at him. There was no way he didn’t know, could he really be that oblivious? "That's our—” he stops suddenly, afraid to reveal, bewildered that Timmy didn’t know _. It’s our song._ “Timmy... I was remembering the time Luca showed us the songs, I just wanted to go back. I didn't hold your hand out of pity, god."

Timmy sniffles. “What was it then? Why made you take that risk on international TV? In front of Elizabeth. Tell me. Please.”

Armie leans back and covers his face with his hands for a moment, letting them fall to his sides before leaning over to rest his head on Timmy's shoulder. "I just wanted to be near you, okay?"

Timmy hesitates, heart beating in his throat as he viciously tries to calm down. This was just Armie. He can’t resist wrapping his arms around him though and bury his head in the crook of his neck seeking the warmth and comfort there. He just hopes everything would be okay between them tomorrow. That nothing changes from what it was yesterday. Yesterday when they were caught—Suddenly it strikes him. “Armie! You need to go home. You’re still sick!”

"I don't want to go home," Armie mutters, returning the embrace. What he really means is, _I don’t want to be somewhere you have to leave._

“No. None of this. You were drinking and this whole thing is super stressful. No complaints, mister.” Timmy reaches up and brushes a hand through his hair. He still wants to be able to just take care of him like before.

_I love you,_ the words just on the tip of his tongue, almost escaping, almost changing everything. He lets him pull him to his feet but doesn't move. "I don't want to lose you either, for the record. Just so you know," he says, returning to the anxiety that started it all. He's trying to prolong the moment before he has to walk through another crowd and mask his face.

Timmy sends him a sad smile. The words _I wanted you to know_ ghosting through his head like mist in the bathroom after a hot shower. And just like that he shooed it away. “We can be friends. We were fine before. We are gonna be fine now. Just—I would feel better if you were propped on a couch drinking water instead of downing champagne. Why ever did you think _that_ was a good idea?” Timmy asks accusingly looping his arm through Armie’s.

"Well, they gave it to us when we were doing those pictures earlier and then it just didn't stop. It made it easier and no one took it from me." He leans against a wall and feels his stomach turn. "A couch would be nice, actually."

Timmy studies his face and body language. “Told you. But I can _also_ tell you’re going to be sick. So I’m howling your ass to the toilet first. Let’s pray we don’t get stopped a hundred times. Knowing our luck we probably will.” He grabs Armie’s arm and pulls him along.

Armie follows silently, unsure of what to say. He'd just spent three days trying to soothe his children as fell ill and the attention felt off as it turned to him. The music was loud when it hit his ears but he tries to focus on the warmth on his wrist where Timmy's hand rests instead. Now that the excitement had died down, he feels every drop of the alcohol and he just wanted to sit. "Timmy, hurry."

Timmy makes a face. Somehow endeared to be trusted this much and at the same time panicked with the weight on his shoulders. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, excuse us, yes, so sorry, later maybe?” He kept repeating and repeating as he fights their way to the nearest gents. He knows time has run out when a hand fists into his shirt and he is brought to a sudden stop. Before anyone can do anything Armie is bent over, heaving on the red carpet. He has hit Timmy’s shoes and parts of his pants but that is the least of his concerns right now. “Hey, Armie it’s okay. Breathe, it’s okay.” He wraps an arm around his shoulders and pushes the blond hair back.

Armie feels embarrassed but grateful that they aren’t in the main hall of the party at least. Someone comes with cleaning supplies, he doesn't know who—he focuses only on Timmy's touch and steadying his own breathing. When he feels like he can move, he looks up at Timmy and nods, gripping his arm tightly, thinking of standing. "Will you help me?"

Timmy smiles and gets a tissue out. “Of course.” Instead of handing it over he carefully wipes Armie’s mouth himself. “Come on.” He says then and pulls him back up.

Armie loops his arm around Timmy's shoulder, half for support, half for comfort. He lets him guide him to the bathroom. "Hey, thank you, I don't know what happened. I was fine and then... god, I feel like shit."

Timmy runs the tap and wets one of the towels nervously. “It’s okay. It’s no big deal. You shouldn’t have come in the first place. It was probably terrible on your health.” He is, in truth, very glad Armie is here to support him but not on the cost of his health. “Here, let me—“ He moves closer to where Armie was leaning against the wall and wipes his sweaty forehead.

"Like I would have missed this. Even if Gary's old ass got it," Armie mutters, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact. He reaches out with lids half closed and grabs the corner of Timmy's jacket with a low hum. "I should be comforting you, dammit," he says, but his voice lacks conviction.

Timmy’s eyes flicker down to the hand for a moment. “Gary is a legend.” He mumbles continuing to dab the sweat away. “He’s an amazing actor.” He moves lower now, more hesitant as he takes care of the skin of his neck, knowing he was indulging.

"He's had his time, that was your award and everyone in that fucking place knew it." A sigh escapes Armie's lips but he tries to regain his composure, knowing he wouldn't let himself react if he weren't feeling so crappy all of a sudden. "That feels really good," he says.

Timmy smiles shyly. His heart had done an unhealthy jolt at the soft sound of Armie’s sigh. It brings back so many memories. _When are you acting? Are you ever?_ He likes making Armie feel better but he also knows he’s walking the line here so he puts the towel away, running a hand through his hair nervously. “How—how’s your stomach?” He asks.

"Mmm," Armie hums. "A little better, thank you." He runs a hand through his hair, mirroring Timmy, before he can stop himself. He lets his hand fall into his lap with his gaze. "You should probably get back in there, people will notice if you're gone, superstar."

Timmy lets out an almost nervous chuckle and leans against the wall next to him. There’s not much space between the sinks and the door so their shoulders are touching sending sparks through Timmy’s body. “Please. As if they would be important when you just threw up. They saw it. They’ll understand.”

"Nah, I'm actually surprised no one came after us. I can’t believe they let me take you out of there. A dozen people must have tried to get your picture on the way out." Armie leans back to look at him a little better, regretting the space but knowing he probably smelled poorly considering everything, and that it was probably welcome.

Timothée shrugs. “Taking bets until the first will and we’ll make a good blind gossip tomorrow.” He grins. “Actor nominee abducts married man after making him throw up Phantom Thread style.” With a chuckle he nudges Armie’s shoulder looking for their easy joking atmosphere. But then their hands brush together and the butterflies take flight in his stomach again.

"God, don't even say that," he chuckles, grimaces and lets his arm wrap around his stomach when it aches deeply with the laugh. He looks at timmy, glances down at their hands and swallows. "We're definitely a rumor, aren't we?"

Timmy’s expression changes to worried as he follows Armie’s movement with his eyes. He did _not_ like this. But Armie stops his thought process again with his question. Is he worried about his wife? Shit, he probably is. “No, I wouldn’t worry too much. We still live in a time where I could say _I love you_ in public and everyone would talk about what good bros we are.” He points out. Armie’s hand brushed his again and his heart jumps into his throat. Was this intentional? Armie had to have moved his arm _somehow_ since this kept happening. Curiously and with no idea of the source of this courage Timmy moves his index finger, extending it towards Armie until he feels skin, a knuckle and his breath hitches again. Even such a small touch was able to undo him.

In a more composed, less vulnerable state, Armie might have joked. He might have teased Timmy about the bro’s comments or called him _kid_. Instead, the words unsettle him further and he shifts, glancing down quickly when his hand brushes against Timmy's again, worried at the contact. He watches as Timmy's hand twitches and scolds himself for being so flustered when Timmy's finger touches the back of his hand. Somehow, by some miracle, he doesn't react—not until he hears a stutter in Timmy's breath. "What are you doing?" he mumbles, realizing too late that his voice was far too weak and floaty, his breath shallow, his eyes still glued to the place where skin meets skin.

Timmy lets out a deep shaky breath. “Nothin’.” He can almost feel Armie’s toe between his again. But this had been in another world where cameras excused everything and rehearsals the rest. Now his finger dips between the index and middle finger wrapping around the first before he looks up again only to find Armie’s eyes still trained on their hands. His skin tingles everywhere and he feels itchy, just about to burst just looking at him, touching him like this.

Armie feels his forehead break out in a sweat again, his stomach lurch, this time for an entirely different reason. He tries to look away but can't, feels like he's trapped in the movement and feel of his finger twisting into his. He tries to remember to take deep, even breaths, but can only manage small shallow ones that are far too quick to do anything close to calming him down. He wants to reciprocate but doesn't know how—this is different, this is something intentional, he can feel it in the way the air changes around them. "Liar," he breathes.

_What’s this? What’s happening?_ Timmy panics but doesn’t move. “Traitor.” He whispers looking at their fingers entwined like two lovers. He’d never thought he would be jealous of his own finger and yet here he is. He moves his other fingers too now hit by a wave of greediness. He wanted to entwine each of his fingers with Armie’s just like every part of himself with his. But if this is all he would get—

"Oh god," Armie whispers. "What are you doing?" He's not sure who he's asking anymore as his head falls back against the wall, his free hand lifting to loosen the tie around his neck when his eyes slip shut. It had been a long time since he was allowed to respond to any touch of Timmy's, and though technically he shouldn't react now, he fears he's unable to stop himself in this state of exhaust and vulnerability.

“I’m just— I’m just holding your hand.” Timmy whispers. “I can do this right? It’s nothing wrong.” His fingers wind into the space that’s left between Armie’s digits like they belonged there. He wondered what it would feel like. To just walk out there and not let go of his hand. His gaze travels up and he notices Armie is flushed and sweaty. “Hey, are you okay?”

He thinks maybe the last time he felt this knotted up inside was during the European leg of the tour. He can't focus on anything except the fingers snaking between his, the light touch, the almost hesitant way he held him. He wants more and knows if he opens his eyes he might not stop himself. He feels feverish and chilled, Timmy's voice holding him steady as his fingers make the room spin. "I— I don't know. I don't know what's happening, I don't know what I'm doing," he admits.

Timmy frowns confused. After all Armie is not doing anything right now but then he felt the hand move closing around his, wrapping it in its grip. Armie’s thumb lands on the back of his palm and ever so gently caresses the skin there. Timmy’s mouth drops open and his eyes fall shut. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. “Armie—" He breathes confused, longing.

His voice is moving and Armie feels the expanse of his hand like fireworks. He holds tighter, trying to steady his rapid heart. It does nothing to settle it, though, and without thinking of the implications or consequences, only of the need to feel Timmy near him, he leans against him, letting his head fall against his shoulder. "I think I'm gonna pass out," he whispers, overwhelmed, telling himself it’s just the flu, knowing it might not have anything to do with it.

Timmy feels his breath against the skin of his neck but forces himself to hold still. “That’s not good. We should get you on that couch.” He says with a furrowed forehead and turns his head trying to catch Armie’s face but he’s only faced with a mop of blond hair. It’s endearing how the tall man has to bend and twist to rest his head on his shoulder. Instinctively Timmy buries his nose in his hair. “Do you want to go to your house or my hotel?” He asks quietly.

_Hotel, hotel, hotel, hotel._ There's a pounding in his head that matches rhythm with the beat in his chest, that seeks to slow the pattern of circles Armie is making on Timmy's hand, unable to stop himself. He should stop this, he doesn’t even know what _this_ is, he hasn’t felt like this with him in a long time. "Hotel," he whispers, wondering if he'll regret it. He’s still sick, going home meant Elizabeth coming which would mean Timmy walking away five minutes after getting inside and the touch would be gone and he'd be forced into bed with a rag over his neck and a hard look for drinking and running off.

Timmy should not get excited at this. Armie just doesn’t want to wake the kids. “Alright. Are you gonna be okay on our way out?” He asks worried and squeezes his hand. Going out would mean letting go and Timmy was not yet quite ready for that. He breathes in deeply savouring the moment. Why does Armie let him do this? He wonders. He knows now, he should become distanced, awkward, overthinking. And yet here they are huddled together with as much contact as they can bear and Timmy has never felt longing quite like this as a deep ache in his chest, an unavoidable pull that kept him in Armie’s orbit.

Armie allows himself a moment of weakness, lets his face bury deeper into the crook of Timmy's neck. He hums, _I'll be fine_. He takes a few deep breaths, shivers when he feels Timmy breathing against him, his hand nearly going slack as he sinks a little more against him. He wants to hold him tighter, or perhaps to be held tighter, he isn't sure. It might not matter. It occurs to him that no words have actually left his lips and he shakes his head a little against Timmy's neck. "I'll be fine."

Timmy can’t take it anymore then. Not a second longer. He pushes away from the wall and turns into his body, melting against his frame, head nuzzling into the crook of his neck. His free arm winds around Armie’s body holding him tight. A tiny, high sound escapes him. He’s not sure what it means and he’s afraid to find out.

Armie leans against him willingly, his already feverish body warming more when he hears Timmy make a sound, his eyes shut against the world and anything that isn't the feel of contact. He still feels faint and a little ill, entirely too warm, but he doesn't care, not anymore. He holds onto Timmy with what strength he has, his fingers snaking under Timmy's suit jacket and stuttering when they skim his spine. " _Thank you,_ ” he whispers, a sigh leaving his lips.

For what? Timmy thinks. He’s the one that has to thank Armie here. But then he feels fingers touch skin and the room spins on its axis. He squirms as a hot wave goes through his body. He answers Armie’s sigh with a slight moan and moves closer, pushes up against him as he’d done when they’d filmed the midnight scene.

It sends Armie into another space where everything is muddled and vision is blurry, his skin overheating in an instant as Timmy presses against him. He bites his lip and thinks this time he might actually pass out, as embarrassing as the thought is. "Oh god, I'm burning up, Tim, I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking warm." He can't even bring himself to care at how bad that sounds, he just needs to cool off _now_ , the fever was killing him. He tightens his fingers at Timmy's back, though, afraid of losing contact. _Maybe it would be okay, just a little longer._

_Tim_. He knows what it means when Armie called him that. “Then you should let me go.” He whispers not sure if he is still talking about this situation. _You shouldn’t hold me like that if we’re just friends._

It is the last thing Armie wants to do, and yet the only thing he could think to do to relieve the heat that was overwhelming him. He holds tighter still, afraid. He's not sure if it's better if he lets go and the heat dissipates or not—if it did, then the intense body contact is to blame; if it didn't, then it is Timmy. Either way, it could be Timmy, either way, it could be the fever. He isn’t sure what to think, but the way Timmy fits against him is making it hard to process anything. He moans at Timmy's neck, nods a little, tries to peel his body away from him.

Timmy feels him move, feels the finger unclench at his back, feels the first rush of air between their bodies. Anxiety spreads in his chest suddenly spreading its dark wings and squeezing his heart in a tight grip. Armie could let go, he’s willing to. Before he can stop it his eyes fill with tears so he squeezes them shut, tries to accept the separation.

By the time his hands rest at Timmy's hips, he feels cool air calm his skin, though it's not nearly enough to make him stop sweating, still needing something to cool off. At the same time, his stomach clenches at the loss of contact and he isn't sure if it's the flu or something _else_ but he tightens his grip in Timmy's shirt at his waist, his forehead resting against Timmy's as he tries to regain some composure, failing miserably with the the proximity being too much and simultaneously not enough. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your night. I didn't realize I was going to be like this. You shouldn't have to deal with this, I don't deserve you doing this, I can make it home if you want to stay."

“Stop, stop.” Timmy pleads. “Don’t do this. I’m sick of this. Every time you do this I’m so ready to find out where your parents live and tell them exactly what they did to you.” He clenches his fists into the labels of his jacket. “You are worth this and so much more.”

Armie stumbles back a step, completely blindsided by Timmy’s passionate frustration. He doesn’t move far though, limited in movement due to Timmy's fists as his brows knit and tears form. "I—" he loses his voice, feels the tears slip past his eyes as his arms fall to his sides, still shocked. He shakes his head and knows he shouldn't, knows the fever will make him regret it, but leans back in to hug Timmy again, this time hiding from his eyes that would see too much when Armie doesn’t have the strength to put his masks up.

Timmy hurts with him, for him. Everything about this is so terrible. His desperate love for Armie, the way he was still hurting because of what they’d done to him, how much Timmy is willing to fight for him and how little it all mattered in the end. “You are loved, Armie. You are amazing even if you don’t realise it. Even if most are scared off by your masks. There’s a beautiful human beneath.”

Armie is too overwhelmed to think before he speaks, acts, even breathes. Timmy's words aren't foreign—he's heard him say similar things before, especially in conversations about Armie's parents—but this time he feels the weight of them. He sniffles against Timmy, afraid to pull back as his fever takes a backseat, cooling off no longer a priority for him in this moment. He thinks of his words, of how they left him breathless and stumbling in his own mind trying to comprehend his emotion. "I don't know how to be loved by you," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I don't know how to let you do that, just give love away like that." It terrified him.

“I’m not giving it away just like that. I know you have no idea what I’m seeing in you but I see a human who’s not perfect and yet perfect in its own imperfections. I see a man who cares. A father who wants nothing but the best for his children. An artist who loves his craft and is fantastic at it, too. I see someone who’s afraid and hides but I love it all the more when the masks slip.” Timmy takes a deep breath. So much had piled up and now there’s no stopping him.

Armie turns, lets his eyes meet Timmy's reluctantly. He knows he should walk away, that this was dangerous, that he might slip up in this state. He can't help it though—the desire to see him, the need to see the love there in his eyes being given without consequence, without any expectation of it being returned. He wonders if Timmy can see how badly he wants to say it back, that he almost does. He wishes this wouldn’t hurt so much, that hearing these things wouldn’t make his chest ache in ways he never knew were possible. "You scare me, _that_ scares me," he admits.

Timmy casts his eyes down. He’d waited for the moment it would be too much. It had been inevitable. With the way he’d been so greedy. But he needs Armie to know. That he’s worthy of so much love. But it would be too much. For a friendship to carry a confession like this. Of course. And here’s the rejection. Stop crying like a little kid, you begged for it, you expected it. Here it is. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” He says voice choked up.

Armie feels like an idiot suddenly, and wishes he wouldn’t be sick so his head would be less cloudy. "No, no that's not..." He sighs, he doesn't know how to talk to him like this. "It scares me because...Timmy, I...you _terrify_ me, not because you...love me, just you, _you_ are...you're amazing and...I'm not like you, I can't just...just... say things like that. I'm not making sense, dammit." He runs a hand over his face and falls against the wall next to Timmy, frustrated and stuck.

“No—I mean—you don’t have to. We are friends.” Timmy says more confused than ever. He knows Armie is bad at expressing emotions. But he knows they’re friends. Armie doesn’t have to say that. “There’s nothing to say. Right?” Suddenly his heart is in his throat. He doesn’t want to hope. He doesn’t want the disappointment.

"God, no you don't get it," he mutters, frustrated. Armie feels like he's on fire and he's not sure if it's the fever or the emotion. He's never been more terrified in his entire life to speak, to be honest with someone. Even when he told his parents about their film, he wasn't this nervous. If he tells him how he feels, the fear in his eyes might go away and _god_ did he want that to go away. But telling him means more complications, it means more tears and more heartache, and he isn’t sure he’s ready. "You deserve to be with someone who can be with you at these kinds of things, who can actually _be_ with you," he manages, despite it killing him. "But I..." _love you_. "I'm married." His eyes slip shut and he bites his lip.

Timmy blinks confused. Armie is right. He doesn’t get it. “That’s sweet of you to say that. But I’m good. I have my mom and my sister and my dad and well I have you. Your support really means the world to me. And I know you are married. That never stood in the way of your support.” When he finishes he sees the frustration on Armie’s face. “You are right. I don’t get. Please explain it to me.”

Armie feels as though he's being taken apart, piece by piece, every second passing like a separation between what he knows is right and what he wants, perhaps even needs. "You don't want me to, it'll ruin everything." He believes it, he believes that saying it or acting or doing anything but just existing at this point was going to hurt. She doesn't know, or if she did, she doesn’t talk to him about it. He knows it wasn't fair to her to feel this way, but he’s moving in reverse everywhere in his life but here and he needs to go forward, he desperately needs to let go of things that are making the anxiety in his head worse. Saying these things to Timmy means adding to the anxiety he feels, the uncertainty, even if it also means the anxiety subsiding eventually. He has zero absolutes with him, no guarantees that saying anything would change their luck. "It won't change anything, she's..." He shakes his head.

“Okay—okay. Whatever it is. It’s okay. If you don’t want to or just can’t talk about it. Okay. I’m here for you, okay?” He grabs Armie’s elbows, squeezes them, reassures him. He is obviously confused and Timmy doesn’t want him to worry now. “Home now. Come on. You need to lie down.” He pulls him along.

"God, this is all so fucked up," he says, covering his face. Even Timmy's touch doesn't soothe him. "I'm so fucked up, this is such a mess." His hands drop and he looks at Timmy. "Let's just...let's go, I guess." he mutters.

Timmy frowns. Upset and angry at the words of his friend. He stops before he can open the door. “Cut it out.” He says quietly. When there’s no reaction from Armie he turns around and raises his voice with every word. “Cut it out! Shut up! Stop that! When will you finally get it! You are **not** messed up. That’s them. It’s all them!” He shouts in a rage.

"No, it's not!" he shouts back. "It's not them! God, it's me, you don't—you don't see it! I'm fucking everything up and I know you think I deserve best but I don't! I fucking don't! Sometimes I feel like Ford doesn't even recognize me, I can't fucking watch our movie anymore and my parents haven't spoken to me in weeks and my marriage is falling apart and it's all, _my_ , fault." He takes a deep breath and looks away, his arms crossing in front of him. After a moment, "We should go."

Timmy feels desperate clinging onto straws. Why can’t Armie see? How can he not—“Hey.” He says softly. “I recorded that audio commentary with Michael. You know, I said you’re everything. And I stand by that.” He straightens automatically when Armie looks up at him. He wants him to see the determination in his body and eyes even when they are filled with tears. “No matter with which disillusions you come up with. You. Are. Everything.” His voice doesn’t budge when he says it and he’s proud. This is important. “And I’m gonna repeat it to the day I die if that’s what it takes to get it into your head.”

"Stop it," he whispers, shaking his head. It's too much, the look in Timmy's eyes, especially when he’s not returning the words. "Please just stop." He feels emotion burn bright behind his eyes but he can't look away. When Timmy gets like this it only makes him fall harder, and loving him made the turmoil in his heart worse. It’s a vicious cycle that he can’t escape and wants to give in to so badly that it hurt. He can't stop himself from reaching out—he needs to hide, from Timmy, from himself, before he says something he can't take back. He fears his resolve is crumbling. He wraps his arms around Timmy's shoulders and waits for him to return the gesture.

Timmy smiles although it’s a bit shaky. He sees he’s close to convincing him. His arms snake around Armie’s waist. “Nope.” He says popping the p. “You’re stuck with me.”

Timmy's hands on him send shivers all over, his arms tightening instinctively. He feels a little lightheaded but focuses on the touch, on Timmy's heart beating against his and the steady rise and fall of his chest. "Stuck. That's hardly how I'd describe it, I don't think anyone would ever say they're _stuck_ with you," he whispers.

Timmy chuckles not catching onto the much heavier meaning. “Well. However you call it you’re not getting rid of me.” He declares and lets his head tip forward so his forehead is resting against Armie’s shoulder. It feels so good to be held by him.

Armie sighs against him, letting all the air leave his lungs with Timmy's movement. "I don't remember life before you," he admits quietly. "Maybe I _am_ stuck, maybe I'm in limbo." He lets his hands wander Timmy's back, knowing he needs to shut up but not wanting the moment to end.

Timmy pulls back slightly to try to gauge what Armie means with that. He’s just saying these things. He has to know what it does to Timmy. Who’s in love with him. Which he knows. And yet he says things like that. “Stuck in a limbo, huh? With me? Very sorry if I’m being annoying.” Timmy says unsure what Armie wants him to say. Expects him to say.

_Shit._ "Not with you, just generally," he says. He watches the hair fall slightly into Timmy's face, the downward set of his lips, the blush on his neck near his ears, the slightly uneven tie. He could touch him, he might let him, but where would that get them? Look, don't touch. Feel, don't speak. Caught between two sides of very different coins. Limbo. "Maybe with you," he whispers. "You need to stop calling yourself annoying, though, you've never annoyed me a day since I've met you."

Timmy blushes. Not sure what to make of Armie’s tone when he’d said _Maybe with you_. “Uuuuh sure.” He says doubtfully and raises his eyebrows. “Just way too nice to me. That’s what you are. I’m sure you didn’t mind me just randomly showing up at your place. Not clingy at all.” He rolls his eyes. More at himself than Armie.

"I wish you wouldn't leave," he says. He's walking a line but he's still too warm and Timmy makes him feel safe and he doesn't care anymore. He thinks he must understand how upset Timmy gets when he struggles to hear him soothe his anxiety, because Timmy is impossible to convince that he’s welcome, always, forever.

Timmy sighs. “Don’t say that. It wouldn’t work and you know it. LA is not Crema.” But god how much does he wish it would be. Just go over and knock at Armie’s door and fall into bed with him to watch shitty Italian tv which they don’t even understand. His heart hurts all over again because it’s so close to bursting with how much love he feels for Armie. “I wish we could move to some lonely island. Just me and you and the sea. Things would be simple there. No press, no parents putting you down, no—“ He stops before he says wife but suspects Armie knows already. It’s not hard to guess.

He knows, he must know, Armie thinks. _He must know how I feel_. He nods, understanding Timmy's line of thought. "We could lounge around in bathing suits again and drink wine until 3am by the water." His chest aches at the thought.

“To the point you’ll be drunk enough to dance with me?” He teases but there’s a melancholy in his voice. Now he wants this. So much. But he knows he wouldn’t be able to stay good. Not if he’s confronted with a tipsy and unmasked Armie. So he doesn’t even suggest it. Doesn’t even say the magical words _Let’s go to the Cayman’s. Just the two of us._ Because he knows Armie would never say yes.

"I'd dance with you sober," he says, a small, sad smile on his lips. He can see it, the two of them on a beach somewhere with no one to stop them from holding each other, with no cameras, no gossip. He reaches up and touches Timmy's face, lets his fingers push his hair back delicately, his own eyes fluttering for a brief moment at the cool, soft strands between his fingers before he thinks better and drops his hand.

“You’re just saying this to flatter me.” Timmy says because Armie _has to_ he’d never dance sober. It’s not even such a big deal to Timmy. It’s okay for him if Armie just watches and yet it feels like there’s a huge amount of trust that’s suddenly handed to him. “We can talk about this again when you don’t have a mixture of meds and alcohol in your blood.” He says softly. They really should go now. They have probably noticed already how long they’ve been gone.

He looks down at Timmy's hands and remembers how it felt to hold his earlier, knowing he couldn't as soon as they leave this room. Perhaps in his mind he can, that would be safe, just in his mind. He looks back up and says, "Talk about what, dancing or running away? Guess it's the same, huh?" He sighs. He can see it in Timmy's eyes that there's something going on under the surface, some sort of anxiety. He feels the walls close in on them in this little bathroom, the combination of his cologne, the fever, and the turn of conversation making him dizzy. "Meds wore off, I think. Just alcohol now."

God, running away. Timmy shouldn’t want to with everything that has happened and yet he would drop it in a heartbeat for him. “Then let’s get you somewhere where you can get new ones. I don’t want you to hurt. Will you come with me now?” He asks.

"Okay," he nods, his hands going to his pockets. "Can we still go to your hotel, though? Elizabeth has some extra medicine, I can get it from her purse first," he says quietly, looking at the door. He hates to remind him of her, but he has to. Hopefully she left her bag with someone and they don’t have to talk. He doesn’t feel like he could walk through that crowd _and_ deal with her without leaning on Timmy, and they'd already caused enough damage by disappearing for this long.

“Yes sure. I’m sharing a suite with my family but we all have separate bedrooms and everything. It’ll be fine.” He says just glad he’ll be able to share some more time with him. “You find her and I find Brian?” He asks. He needs to tell him he’s leaving. His parents will probably want to spend the evening with him but they’d put up with so much of him they’d handle this, too.

Timmy wades into the crowd glad he can pick out Armie easily even when they separate.

“Brian, I’m leaving with Armie. I’ll see you guys?” He says and goes in for a hug but sees his agent frown. Right networking. Not tonight. Please not tonight. Armie needs him and he needs Armie. “Please, Brian. Peter.” He looks between them.

 

Armie finds her easily, more so than he anticipated. "Hey! There you are! We were going to go get pictures, come!" He shakes his head and tries not to be bothered.

"Medicine," he shouts. "Where's your purse?" Recognition flashes across her face and she directs him to a table where he finds what he needs, puts it in his coat pocket, and turns. "I'm going with Timmy for a little while, I'll see you later," he says, kissing her cheek when she looks like she might protest. He turns and walks away without another word, finding Timmy in conversation with Brian and Peter. _Please_ , he thinks.

 

Timmy can feel him approaching without turning. He sees the knowing and yet sceptical glances of Peter and Brian and knows they wouldn’t be happy either way. So he turns for now, let them think a moment longer and waves Armie closer. He slots into the space next to him easily. “Did you get it?” He asks him concerned fighting the urge to casually slip his arm around his waist. This was neither the time nor the place.

 

He nods and looks between the men, seeing some sort of tension. "Sorry, am I interrupting?" he asks, knowing he is, hoping they'll let him leave with Timmy. He knew they worried—Brian especially—about this. Timmy was like a son to them, of course they'd worry about this.

 

“I don’t like this.” Brian says frankly and Timmy nods. “Duly noted. Can I go now?”

It startles them so much they chuckle. It loosens the atmosphere if nothing less. “It’s not like we can really stop a grown man, right?” Timmy nods and smiles thankfully.

“Thank you. For everything. You two are gods.” He gives them each a kiss to the cheek before pulling Armie along with a bouncing step.

Behind them Brian sighs.

“He’s just as insufferable as you were when we met.” Peter says teasingly and wraps an arm around his husband.

Brian shakes his head and laughs. “Asshole. I fucking love you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also check out our tumblrs:  
> [lookingforatardis](http://lookingforatardis.tumblr.com/)  
> [charmie-inspiration](https://charmie-inspiration.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nici is literally the coolest and made a killer moodboard for the night of the Oscars in this fic. Go reblog it because it's amazing:  
> [Moodboard](http://lookingforatardis.tumblr.com/post/171948742037/coming-home-chapter-two-moodboard-creds-to-my)

Armie glances back behind them as they walk and smiles when he sees them laughing. No harm done. He turns his attention back to Timmy and follows quietly, letting him take the lead. It’s incredibly endearing to watch him shuffle through the crowd with a smile, fist bumping and nodding at people who say hi. Too much walking was making him lightheaded again but he tries to take slow, deep breaths and focus on the rhythm of Timmy's steps or the spark in his eyes when the light hits him just right.

It takes awhile for them to reach the street. Timmy is truly sorry he can’t pay more attention to everyone but Armie has priority. They climb into a taxi and Timmy tells the driver the address. When they sit on the backseat Armie closes his eyes and leans back. “You okay?” He asks and reaches up to feel his forehead. He was burning up again. Why couldn’t he have stayed in bed? Reckless idiot. Just to be with him. He shakes his head. “Stubborn bastard.” He mumbles but it’s fond. 

Armie hums and leans into the touch, his body relaxing a little in the comfort of the cab. The cooler outside air helped him a little, but mostly just made him realize how hot he'd been inside. "I'm fine," he whispers, reaching into his coat to grab the medicine and taking it quickly, his head falling back against the seat as he puts the bottle back in his pocket. "See, all better."

"You should've waited until we can get you some water." He says but it's too late now anyway. "You are going to drink some at the hotel before I wrap you up in my blankets. You need to look out for yourself." He reminds him. "The sequel won't happen without you." He says and wonders whether the driver would mind if he takes Armie's hand or leans his head against his shoulder. Or does even stupider things.

The mention of the sequel makes him smile, a promise that in the future that they'll be together again like that. He waves the comments off with his hand and lets it settle on Timmy's leg, turning it over so it's palm up. His heart is racing but he doesn't mind. He's thinking about his hand in the bathroom intertwined with his. He's thinking about sunkissed days and nights when it rained so hard that the had to close balcony doors and laughed until they couldn't breathe. "Thank you for doing this, seriously," he says as the cab pulls to a stop.

Timmy just looks from the hand to his face and back. Before he can overthink he twines his fingers between his again. _This is not a good idea._ He thinks but then just pays double hoping it would keep the driver’s mouth shut.

“It’s not completely selfless to drag you here, you know.” He mumbles and wonders if it hurt Armie with how hard he’s gripping his hand. But he just had to feel it. Be reckless while Armie allowed it. They walked into the empty lobby and called an elevator, shooting little glances now and then. It feels exhilarating to hold his hand in public. Just for a little while to play pretend. When the elevator doors close behind them they let out an airy chuckle, high on the adrenaline from having done this. Timmy’s not letting go though. Not until he absolutely has to.

Armie's heart is beating out of his chest, and he's sure that if Timmy wouldn’t be gripping his hand so hard he'd notice it was shaking. Not smart, not smart, not smart. Did they notice, did anyone see, did he _care?_ The cool elevator walls soothe him and he rests his head against Timmy's shoulder like he had in the bathroom, except this time the stakes felt higher. "So taking care of me is selfish? Explain," he mumbles against fabric. The door dings open and he straightens, relieved when no one is waiting on the other side.

Timmy pulls him along swinging their hand between them a little. “Well, I still need you around. For the sequel and housing in LA.” He says teasingly knowing that this is very far from the full truth and pretty sure that Armie knew, too. “Besides who gets the chance to take care of you? You’re so picky about who you let close.” He nudges his shoulder. “And since you don’t like taking care of yourself someone has to.” He squeezes his hand, glad the corridors are empty and they can just keep doing this, talking in hushed whispers. They reach the door and Timmy unlocks it with his keycard. “Welcome to the Chalamet suite.” He says and closes the door  behind them carefully.

Armie looks around and smiles at jackets and shoes in corners, little reminders of his family around them. "Your room?" he asks, carefully letting go of Timmy's hand and shrugging out of his coat and tossing it on a chair, loosening a few buttons on his shirt and pushing his sleeves up. The hotel is warm and while it’s comforting, it’s also the last thing he needs. "And do you think I could get some water?" he adds as an afterthought, remembering Timmy's words in the cab.

“The door over there.” He points and grabs a bottle of water on his way. “You should get out of this suit. It cost more than the average citizen earns in a year, I bet.” He hands him the bottle first though. The room was clearly occupied by him. He’d moved in when he’d arrived in the beginning of the week so it was cluttered with clothes, books, magazines, his Switch. “I should probably get out of this, too.” He says and unties his bow tie and undoes some buttons so he can breathe better.

When Armie walks into his room, he feels his life all around him. It's like being in New York with him, just a little less permanent. He accepts the water and drinks a bit, watching Timmy's fingers expose his skin before removing the lid to his own bottle to take a drink. He takes another swig and puts the bottle down next to Timmy's, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall off his shoulders with a sigh. The cool air hits him fast and it's almost intoxicating, the relief that washes over him. He kicks his shoes off and takes his pants off—desperate for more cool air—before folding them and putting them with his shirt and going to sit on the bed.

It’s almost more than Timmy can handle. Seeing him like that in his space. You shouldn’t do this in front of the person who’s in love with you, he thinks. He can see the goosebumps from where he stands though and he jumps into protective mode instead. “Under the blankets with you.” He commands and pulls them back so Armie only has to fold his ridiculously long limb on the mattress. When he’s lying down Timmy tugs him in carefully before feeling his forehead again. “How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

A part of him wants to cry at his kindness. The blankets are cold and heavy and he feels like he can finally breathe. He takes Timmy's wrist in his hand and holds it against his forehead, letting it fall a little to his cheek. "Better," he nods, his eyes never leaving Timmy's. "Sorry I took your bed," he jokes, his eyes fluttering closed. "You can join me, but I don't want you to get sick."

Timmy smiles even as his heart is beating out of his chest. “It’s ok. Let me get some comfortable clothes on first.” He says and pulls his hand back even if it hurts to deny Armie something. He stands up and walks over to his wardrobe then getting out comfy sweatpants and –after a moment of hesitation _the_ sweater. He holds it in his hand for a long moment. _Billowy._ Then he unbuttons his shirt, discards it and pulls his pants off along with the shoe. He loves wearing these outfits but he also loves being comfortable. So he slips into the loose pants and sweater before turning back to Armie wondering if he would recognise it.

Armie can't watch as he strips, knows it'll ruin any resolve he was managing to hold onto. He listens as the clothes hit the floor, and new ones are pulled on, feels the dip in the bed. He turns and smiles, pulling the covers up with one hand and reaching out with the other, his brows knitting together suddenly. The worn knit, the slight discoloration, the soft feel—it’s familiar, _too_ familiar. He knows in an instant why, and feels his heart skip a beat at how it fits him, a little too baggy, his hands barely peeking out from the sleeves, the neck a little stretched. God. "Is that mine?" he asks quietly, afraid to raise his voice, touching the sweater gently.

Timmy blushes. He remembers. Of course he does. That’s what Oliver always does. Remember. “Not anymore.” He says sheepishly. “Although I might be open for trading it for a fresh one.” When he says fresh, he means worn, he means drenched with _your_ scent, he means freshly peeled off _your_ skin. When he pulls his shoulders up and buries his nose in the collar there’s barely any scent left.

Armie smiles and watches him. He knows exactly what he means, why he took it. "Is that what I am now? Just some guy for you to steal clothes from? To generate a new baggy wardrobe for you?" he says, teasing, tugging it a little while smirking at Timmy. He feels stronger now that he’s laying down and isn’t sweltering hot. Timmy helps, too, just being there with him. Knowing he still has that sweater, knowing that the other day when he went looking for it, it was probably on Timmy's back.

Timmy smiles and nods. “Gotta keep up with fashion, man.” He says and lets his hands wander to the one at the hem of the sweater. He takes the hand between his own, marvels at the size, caresses the creases and lines and slight hair on the back, the tattoo with the Russian letters spelling out ‘Hammer’ at his wrist. It’s quiet and comfortable. Armie lying in bed and Timmy sitting cross-legged next to him with his hand between his own in his lab.

Something in the way his fingertips scatter touch along the lines of Armie's hand makes the world stop spinning. Armie watches hair fall into his face, the fabric of his—Armie's, Timmy's, their—sweater pooling at his wrists, his lip getting caught between his teeth. He feels inexplicably drawn to him, to this moment with him. Timmy's finger traces the tattoo on his wrist and he shivers, burrowing deeper into the blankets but trying not to disrupt the touch. "You mean so much to me," he whispers suddenly, because he has to say something, because he can't comprehend life without him and while saying that isn't allowed, he could say other things, innocent things.

Timmy peaks up at him through the curls that have fallen into his face. “You know how I feel about you,” he says sheepishly and pulls the hand up putting the softest kiss to one of the knuckles before pressing it against his chest. “I’m truly honoured you trust me like that.” A confession for a confession.

He holds his gaze for a moment, lets life pass around them and between them without words until he can't breathe right, Timmy's thumb rubbing his hand softly. "You're easy to trust," he offers, his eyes dropping to Timmy's lips before settling on his hand against his heart.

“You are someone who trusts no one easily.” Timmy shoots back instantly. Armie always had his walls up. He remembers talking with Luca about this. How the director had instructed him to create a safe environment for Armie to relax and be himself. How important it was for their movie that he was honest with himself. Timmy had felt overwhelmed with the amount of responsibility back then but it had all fallen into place once he actually met Armie.

"That's true," he admits, nodding. "I've never had a problem with you, though." Even if Armie doesn't trust himself around Timmy, he can always trust him. Even now, even in _bed_ with him, practically naked, Timmy doesn't push or do anything to make Armie hesitate or question his trust. It is natural and easy with them; trusting him had always been the easiest part of everything. He'd never felt more at home with another person.

Timmy smiles and looks down at their hands again. He slowly unfolds Armie’s so he can slip his fingers between his again. “I’m glad you’re here.” He mumbles, thumb caressing skin.

"So am I," he says. He watches Timmy's face and remembers how he looked at him earlier when he said he was afraid to lose him. "I wish it could always be like this."

“We can dream about running away.” Timmy whispers and draws the hand up again, nuzzling it, savouring the moment. Right now, it almost seems like they want the same thing. To be together for the sake of being together. Not to just to escape the public eye.

The distance between them, both physically and emotionally, weighs on Armie. He scoots his body a little closer and stares up at Timmy longingly. "Timmy," he sighs, shaking his head slightly. "I already do," he whispers.

Timmy’s breath hitches a little. He can’t stop it. Not with the way Armie is looking at him, his gaze so tender. “How? I mean- what- what is it like?” He asks quietly needing to know whether it’s anything like his own visions.

Armie smiles a little, swipes his thumb over Timmy's palm, and shrugs. "A lot of this," he says. "You...in my clothes," he laughs and looks at their hands, grows somber. "I'd wake up first and make breakfast and you'd stumble out and hang all over me until I burnt the eggs, and you'd laugh and kiss..." he trails off, swallows hard. He blinks a few times, looking back up at Timmy. "You'd kiss me," he whispers. "And we'd go to the park and wander and you'd be there holding my hand like this and I wouldn't care about what anyone said." He feels like his heart is going to leap out of his chest, it was beating so fast. This was the closest he'd ever been to telling him how he felt.

Timmy’s eyes fill with tears. Of sorrow, of happiness, of love. He wants this just as much as Timmy does. He’d always thought it would make it better but it doesn’t. It just means their situation is even more hopeless than he thought. “Armie...” he breathes us trying to express how much it pains him that they want this but can never have it. “Yes, all of that.” He nods and tries to smile because this is good. They want the same thing. “Can you—can you just—hold me for a little while?” He asks.

Timmy's tears make him weak and he wants nothing more than wipe them away but he doesn't know if he's allowed just yet. _So there,_ he thinks. _Now he knows._ He nods when Timmy asks, he was afraid he never would. "Come here," he says, sniffling, pulling the blanket back just a little for him.

Timmy doesn’t let go of his hand just slips into the space under the warm covers and carefully rests his head on his shoulder. It doesn’t matter that Armie is a little sweaty still. The arm closing around his back makes him sigh. Finally, finally home.

Armie sighs, lets his eyes close, holds him tighter. He hadn’t realized how badly he'd missed this, _wanted_ this. It was an odd feeling to him against his bare chest, his own sweater looped over him, under his fingers, against him. His hand that isn't holding Timmy's finds his hair and he smiles, raking his fingers through the light curls. He remembers when Timmy fell asleep on him in Italy, the times he'd done it since, usually just a head on his shoulder, but enough to make Armie want _this,_ now. He lets out a soft, low noise and mumbles, "I love this."

Timmy squints up at him, confused. Why did he use that line? Was it even consciously or just an accident? Didn’t he know where the scene was headed after this line? And should Timmy answer or brush it off? He decides to smile softly. “Stop stealing my lines.” He teases meaning this is not a movie. There’s no camera here to excuse you if you kiss me. I want you to want this and not brush it off as something that belongs to the scene.

Armie chuckles, pulls him tighter against him. God, he loves him. He glances down to see him looking and feels his heart skip. He has to look away, his eyes too soft, too much love. "It's a good line," he says with a smile. "Besides, like you've never stolen mine. How many times have you said _Later_ to me, huh?"

Timmy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be a brat,” he says in something that’s supposed to sound like Armie. His free hand seeks out Armie’s weak spot at his side and pinches him there. They could still be those silly, wrestling friends.

Armie gasps and flinches away from him, his hand darting out to his as he shuffles onto his side, facing Timmy. "I can't believe you, I'm sick!" he says, trying to hide a smile. "Have some compassion." He reaches out and tickles Timmy in retaliation, a soft, breathless laugh leaving his lips.

Timmy yelps and giggles. “When have you ever shown compassion to the small weak one here?” he asks and attacks Armie’s side again. Soon they are tumbling all over themselves wrestling on the bed like they’d done before. Timmy laughs and pants. “I thought we were having a moment.”

"You were the one who ended the moment," Armie complains, pinning him. He swipes his thumbs under Timmy's sweater to brush his wrists and smiles at him. Timmy's lips are parted, his breath coming in quickly, and his hair is all over the place but Armie loves it, loves the way it curls throughout the night, how it’s messy and indescribably _Timmy_.

“But it was your fault for calling me out like that. Never heard of being a gentleman, huh?” He says and it’s meant to be funny of course but he sees a short flash of pain in Armie’s eyes and wants to take it back immediately. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t think- please be as rude as you like. I love you just like that. For being so honest,” he adds quickly trying to contain the damage he’d done.

Armie sees him backpedaling, and he appreciates it but something about the moment feels off all of a sudden. Maybe it's how easily he throws _love_ out there, or how Armie is hovering over him like he has a right. He looks at his hand and sees the ring and swallows. Carefully, he shifts so he can lay down next to Timmy, their shoulders touching barely. "I know you do," he says, because he doesn't want him to think he's upset with him. He's not, not really. He's more upset with himself.

Timmy frowns feeling the mood shift. Just a moment ago everything was fine. Of course he had to go there and ruin it. Good job, Chalamet. Really. Oscar worthy. He cringes at that thought and shoos it away. Armie matters now not his petty self. He turns to look at him, moves closer, nuzzles his shoulder, presses a slight kiss there. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “Forgive me?” He looks up at him with his best impression of puppy eyes.

"You didn't do anything—" Armie's words stutter when sees him staring, the green and gold flecks in his eyes, the dark lashes. The air rushes out of him and he struggles to remember why he'd let the moment pass in the first place. Carefully, he lifts his hand and tucks his hair behind his ear. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispers.

Timmy leans into the hand glad he’s still granted the soft touches. “I don’t blame you for the situation you are in even if it means we can’t have _this_. I don’t blame you for not wanting to destroy the family you have. Yes, it hurts. But better that than to feel nothing at all, right?” He smiles and it’s a little sad. They weren’t supposed to have each other. That’s just how it was.

"No, of course you don't. You never blame me for anything," he whispers, stroking his cheek. He lets the pad of his thumb brush over Timmy's lip before pulling his hand back and resting it on his chest, his heart aching and beating rapidly. "Sometimes I wish I felt nothing," he breathes. "It would be so much easier."

“Don’t say that. I wouldn’t want to miss loving you. I don’t want it to be anyone else,” Timmy makes clear. “Hurting means being alive, too. Without hurt we wouldn’t recognise joy. And I’ve also enjoyed loving you. Being excited before every rehearsal and the butterflies whenever we were alone.”

 _So since Italy, he's loved me since Italy,_ he thinks. For some reason, the thought warms him and makes him hold him tighter. He never thought of love being like this, probably because it never had been before. He's never loved someone and had so many conflicting emotions accompany it like this. Yes, there’s hurt, a lot of it; but Timmy is right. "I've enjoyed it, too," he says softly, because he means it, because the moments they stole under the ruse of being friends mean everything.

Timmy lets out a deep breath feeling the gravity of Armie’s words on his chest. So he’s loved him, too, for awhile now. But- “Will you move on? Can you move on?” He asks anxious to hear the answer.

"I've tried," he says. He lifts a hand to his own face and lets out a deep sigh. "God, I've tried. I don't... I haven't yet," he says, still covering his face, afraid to face what he's saying. "I thought I would by now but I haven't, not even close."

“Well, neither have I,” Timmy mumbles. He can feel his heart beat fast again and his cheeks heating up. He watches Armie hiding behind his hand, breathes in the scent of him at his shoulder and suddenly needs to say it again. Not overly hasty this time, not in a rush, not with apologising immediately after. “I love you,” he whispers but loud enough so Armie would hear.

Armie feels Timmy's heart race against his side and it only makes his beat harder, too. His words cover him whole until they're all he sees, thinks, breathes. He drops his hand and looks at Timmy, his breathing ragged. He touches his cheek with his fingertips, skims along his jaw, thinks of all the times he chased that line with his lips. He remembers the day at Monet's Berm when they were so close he could count the colors in his eyes and whispered between takes silly nonsense to kill the nerves. He remembers late nights in LA and pj parties and pizza in New York and running down hotel halls and skipping stones and all the things that made Timmy laugh and the clear sound of it. So quiet he barely makes a sound, almost like breathing, like passing secrets in silence, he whispers, "I love you, too," tears forming in his eyes.

Timmy’s breath stutters. He hadn’t expected him to say it back. He’d never thought he’d hear him say it at all. He tries to smile but there are tears in his eyes as well. It hurts like hell that he knows that admission doesn’t change their situation at all. His eyes slip shut unable to bear this but then he can’t stand not looking at Armie’s face. “Promise me. In a different life, when we meet again, promise me to make us possible there so that at least one version of me gets to lead a life with you by my side.” There are tears spilling down his cheeks now but he doesn’t bother with wiping them away. “Like you told me earlier. All of that and more. Promise me.”

Armie watches him process and aches deep in his bones when he sees pain. He nods, fighting tears, sniffling. "I promise," he says, still nodding, shifting up a little so he's half sitting and can properly look at him. His hands cover the sides of Timmy's face and this time he doesn't hesitate to capture the tears with his fingers. He pulls him closer and presses his lips to Timmy's forehead, lingering, his breath sputtering in and out of his lungs as he closes his eyes to ward off emotion. He pulls back and covers his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, god I want this _now_ , I'm so sorry."

Timmy feels almost guilty for bringing this image into his brain. But there are so many reasons why they couldn’t and not all of them bad. “Think about Ford and Hops. Think about acting. We still need to make that sequel. We can’t do that if we’re on some lonely island. And we are still friends here.” He explains trying to be strong and acting like he doesn’t want this just as much.

Armie tries to settle his breathing but it's not working very well. "How are we supposed to just..." he shakes his head, drops his hands, looks away. "I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle. I can't win, no matter what I do, I can't fucking win and I'm so tired of everything. How are we supposed to get past this? How are we supposed to film another one of these movies?" he asks, looking at Timmy suddenly. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

Timmy lets out a breath he didn’t knew he’d holding. He’s not leaving. That’s good. His expression turns pleading though. “But weren’t we fine this time? Why shouldn’t we be fine a second time?” he asks. Armie had to agree to a sequel. No matter how painful it would be it would ensure they stayed together, had excuses to touch, to kiss, maybe even more.

"What are we supposed to do in the meantime? Pretend we don't feel like this? I can't kiss her without wishing it was you," he confesses, shaking his head. He wants the sequel, he wants to keep working with everyone, but it terrifies him. He knows his marriage wouldn't survive the sequel and it scares him, the unknown that surrounds this. "I want the sequel, I do. I'll do anything Luca asks. But it scares me." There’s no use hiding, he'd already confessed more than he should have at this point.

Timmy is too struck by the confession to process anything else. He hides behind his hands this time. “You can’t just say these things. You can’t.” They cannot possibly be true. Armie can’t really be influenced this much by him.

Armie's gaze falls and he turns away, just slightly. He knows he shouldn't have said anything. He closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down, stop himself from letting tears form in his eyes. "Sorry," he mutters. He doesn't know what to do. "I'll stop."

Timmy looks up and sees the mask form hiding him again. “No, no. Armie.” Timmy is up and moving closer to him in an instant. He kneels in front of him and takes his face between his hands. “Look at me. Don’t ever feel like you have to hide from me.” He leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose to get him to smile or react in any way.

"No, you're right," he says, shaking his head, his eyes closing and face scrunching up with Timmy's kiss. "I shouldn't say any of this, it's not fair." He opens his eyes and sees Timmy's anxious face and he can't help but lean forward to allow his head to fall against his shoulder. His sweater smells like Timmy now and it makes him want those lazy mornings with him even more.

“I appreciate it when you do though.” He murmurs. “It’s just hard to believe sometimes.” He turns his face so he can push his nose into Armie’s hair directly. “Can I get a new sweater?” He mumbles. “You can have this one back.”

"You don't want it?" he asks, leaning against him more. "I think it looks good on you," he whispers, his lips ghosting the skin the oversized sweater left exposed. His arms loop around Timmy's waist loosely and he tries not to panic about everything he says as he's saying it. He lets out a sigh but it's broken and shaky.

Timmy hums feeling goosebumps crawl up his neck and over his back. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore. Can you wear it and then give it back?” He asks. He understands Elio fully. A billowy is worth so much but he needs his intact, smelling of Armie so he can huddle up in it whenever he feels too lonely and wants to be held by him.

Armie chuckles and takes fistfuls of the sweater in his hands. He still feels off but Timmy helps. Maybe they can still be them, they can still tease and play like always. Maybe it doesn't have to hurt. "I'm too warm to wear it now," he says, burrowing his face in Timmy's neck and dropping the material in his hands, letting his fingers snake underneath just barely, just existing under the material, not quite touching Timmy. "Give it to me tomorrow."

“Okay.” Timmy nods slightly. They stay like that for a long while with Timmy’s attention solely focuses on the fingertips on his back. Couldn’t he-? He reaches out and touches Armie’s back. It’s not the first time he’s done this but he’s careful this time. Savours the feeling. First he just grazes across the ribs and spine with his fingertips. Then he lets them wander lower, heightens the pressure and starts caressing his back with his full palms. He’s burning up against his touch and Timmy worries about his fever again, drops a caring kiss on his naked shoulder.

He should leave, logically he should walk out that door and go home to his family. But he's frozen, unable to move, to breathe even, as Timmy touches him. His shoulders go slack and his own hands press a little more insistently on his back, still afraid to explore. Everywhere Timmy touches goes ablaze. What he really wants is to kiss him but that felt definitive, and he's still sick and Timmy didn't need that, and _they_ didn't need that rumor. So instead, he moans against his neck as Timmy's hands threaten to undo his resolve. He'd originally planned on staying here for a little while and then returning home to sleep, but he isn't sure he'd be able to face his family when he felt like he was being lit on fire by this brilliant 22 year old.

Timmy can’t stop the liquid heat that pools in his loins at the sound of Armie’s moan. His voice was a sin but his moans- he scraps across his back and there’s another moan. How far would they go? How far could they? How far would Armie let them? He knew he wanted Armie but what good would it do them? He wiggles a little closer although it means he is sitting on his upper thighs now. He pears over Armie’s shoulder to see his hands on his back. _How far will you let me?_

Armie concludes that Timmy's trying to kill him. He's not sure if he should encourage him or not but he can't stop himself from pressing his fingers deeper into his back, from his shallow breathing. He refuses to look at him, afraid of seeing something he can't come back from. He has flashbacks to sitting like this in Italy, to kissing him then and stripping clothes away. Finally, he allows his hands to roam up Timmy's back along his spine, stopping when he's wrapped up in his arms and the sweater starts pulling. "We should stop," he says, breathless. "This isn't, this isn't right. I'm sick and, and," his hands drop a little at the stimulation on his back and he swallows, leaning further against Timmy's shoulder and neck.

“And you want this too much?” he asks quietly and presses his lips to the skin of shoulder. Again, a little higher up. And then again and again leaving a trail up his neck to the spot behind his ear that knows turns Armie into jelly. He was beyond careful consideration now. He wants this and so does Armie. Why can’t they have it then? “I want you.” He breathes into Armie’s ear low and hot.

 _Fuck._ His hands leave Timmy's body in favor of gripping the sweater tightly. "Timmy," he whines, still breathless and he doesn't even know if he wants him to stop or not. This terrifies him though, and he's not sure he can go through with it. He finds some form of strength in him and reaches around to remove Timmy's hands from his back, dropping them at their sides and framing his face in his hands. A million things run through his mind but he can't focus on any of them for too long. He leans his forehead against Timmy's and sighs. "I don't know if I can do this," he whispers.

“What would it change? At this point would it really make a big difference aside from us getting to experience this?” He reaches up to cover his hands with his. “Let this night exist outside of the real world.” He pleads.

"How do you go on from this? How do we walk away? Look into my wife's eyes?" Armie hates himself but he can't not mention her. He feels sick enough as it is that he is going to have to hide what already transpired. He isn't sure he could sleep with Timmy and go back to her, even if he wasn't sure he wants to be with her anymore, even if things aren't great. They are married, and that still means something, even if Armie is in love with someone else, wanted someone else. "How are you just...compartmentalizing this?"

Timmy shrugs, let’s his hands fall back into his lap. “It was stupid to ask. Of course, you can’t. I’m sorry for compromising you. I don’t know what it’s like. There’s never been someone—“ He makes a helpless gesture. _Like you._ “We should sleep. Or watch something. Or do anything else than talk about this.”

"Timmy, wait, I'm sorry," he says, feeling helpless. "I just really don't want...If we do this, I want to be sure that ..." He shakes his head, lost for words. How could he convey what he is feeling when he isn't even sure of it himself? "I don't ever want this to be something we regret. And I'm not talking about you, I just mean... that makes this more real, Timmy. If we do that, are you really going to be able to watch me kiss her on red carpets and post on social media? Because if it were you, I... I don't think I could do it. Any of this, I don't know how you're doing any of this, aren't you afraid of getting hurt?"

Timmy smiles but there’s a painful edge to it. “I don’t. Sometimes I look at you two and my heart feels like breaking apart because you are so happy and I know you don’t need me and it’s just- some cruel joke I get to tag along. And then I wish I could be the one by your side. Like today. That we would be the ones allowed to hold hands and kiss in front of cameras. You see: it hurts already.”

Armie pulls him back into a hug, saying, "See, this is why I never told you, I didn't want you to hurt." He rubs his back and tries not to worry about the consequences of the past couple of hours. A part of him still wants to cross the line, but he isn't Oliver, and he can't _not_ talk about this, not think about the ways this could go terribly wrong despite Timmy feeling right.

“I know. It’s okay though. It’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” Timmy goes willingly into the hug. The body contact soothing him and just right at this moment. “You’re so cute,” he tells him. It makes him proud that Armie cares this much about him. He’d take every proof that he really loves him.

"Cute?" he laughs softly. "I don't think I've ever been called _cute_." He turns his head to press his lips against Timmy's shoulder, the skin soft and warm and safe. "I'll always worry about you. I want you to be okay."

“Stop, Stop,” Timmy says softly and pulls Armie’s face away from his shoulder. “No kisses. We decided to stay on this side of the line, didn’t we? And I don’t want this to be so hard on us.” He tells Armie. “And you _are_ cute. They just missed the big opportunity of telling you.”

"No, you're right, I'm sorry," he says, brushing Timmy's hair back. "No kisses. Probably better, I don't want you getting sick." He traces along his cheekbones and shakes his head. _Cute_ , he smiles. _He_ was cute. "Do you want me to leave? Because I can sleep at home, it's not a big deal." He'd rather know now than wait for later to come around.

“I mean it’s your decision of course,” Timmy says. “But I’d like you to stay. Just cuddle up. You can sleep.” He brushes a hand through Armie’s hair. “If you’re okay with that?” He tries not to make it obvious how much he wants it because he doesn’t want to influence Armie’s decision.

"Yes please," he smirks, glancing at Timmy's lips and returning his gaze. He sighs, relieved. "Cuddles sound nice." He catches Timmy's hand from his hair and slips his fingers through the gaps between his, smiling softly.

“Is this our thing now?” he asks but not complaining. He pushes him over with his free hand. “I can put the television on.” He offers him as he settles on his chest tugging his head under his chin. It feels good to touch in as many places as possible with Timmy lying on top of Armie’s body.  “If it’s too warm just push me off.”

Armie smiles and wraps his arms around Timmy. It _is_ warm, but he didn't mind. He lets out a deep sigh and toys with his sweater in his hands. Timmy's hair tickles him and it's a quiet reminder of the love he felt inside his chest. He listens to the sound of him breathing and the weight of his hands on him and resists the urge to press his lips against his head. "I like the quiet with you, only turn it on if you want to watch something."

“Okay. Then this is fine.” He lets him pet his back while draws circle on the back of his hands. Hours or minutes might tick by. Timmy is not sure and he’s not sure he cares either.

Eventually they can hear the door to the suite open and giggling and tripping over feet. His parents and Pauline are back but Timmy doesn’t bother to move. There’s shuffling going on outside until there’s a soft knock at his door and his mother pokes her head in. “Timmy? Are you okay?” She asks.

Timmy lifts his from Armie’s chest and smiles. “Yeah. We are good.” She knows anyway, there’s no reason to hide. She knew just as well that she had to keep quiet about what she’d just seen.

 

Armie's heart skips a beat when the door opens; he knows how this must look, and to be honest, it is exactly how this looked. He keeps his eyes locked on Timmy, terrified to make eye contact with his mom. When the door slips shut and he settles back on his chest, Armie lets out the breath he'd been holding. He listens to the chatter outside and how it gets quiet; he thinks she must have told them. "Do they hate me?" he whispers. "They must, right? For hurting you?"

Timmy shakes his head. “Love is not something that you control. They can’t hate you because I fell in love with you.” He explains remembering each time he’d told another one of them. Pauline had been first. It had been in Crema already, over FaceTime. Back then he thought it would just go away when this ends and their contact falters. Neither had happened though, so he’d told his mom and eventually his dad, too. “To be honest, after they met you, they told me that they think you love me, too. I didn’t believe them obviously. But they felt sorry for you. I think my mom was over it tonight. I was terrified she’d tell Elizabeth something because she was so annoyed.” He explains.

" _Your_ parents can't," he says, twisting his fingers into Timmy's hair. He swallows hard and drops his hands back to Timmy's shoulders, his eyes searching the ceiling. "You're so goddamn lucky, you know that?" he says. He takes a deep breath and continues. "I mean, god. Your mom even wants to protect _me_ ," he says, his voice breaking. He thinks if his parents knew that would be it, there would be no more niceties, no more _Here's our crazy son Armand_ , no more phone calls. That would be it. His brother might not even talk to him, they barely spoke as it is.

Timmy pushes himself up to look into Armie’s face. “Who wouldn’t want to protect you? Yeah, I may be in love with you but everyone with a heart can see you deserve so much. And I’m gonna show up on your kids’ birthday on time and don’t let them speak a single word with you. You shouldn’t rely on what they think about you. Honestly, anyone that doesn’t see how good you are shouldn’t get a piece of you.” Timmy smiles lightly and puts his elbows to either side of his head so he can play with his hair while looking at him. “I can get possessive.” He points out jokingly. “Who doesn’t pass my test isn’t allowed to get near you. You’ve hurt enough for a lifetime.” He mumbles.

Armie's chest aches with the destabilizing realization that he needs to be near him, always. He needs him, needs this, even if he feels he doesn't deserve it, and especially because he feels he doesn't deserve it. He'd always been the one to reassure, to protect, to get possessive. He'd never had someone be that for him and Timmy's promises make him realize how much he'd been wanting it. "I've never had a protector," he whispers, biting his lip to keep it from trembling, the words making him more emotional than he anticipated they would. He skims his hands up Timmy's body to gently wrap around his biceps.

Timmy smiles. “Well then you have one now.” He says glad he could be something for Armie. “Just tell me and I’ll be there giving you a few seconds in your own mind to relax. You’ll see. I can be terrifying.” He promises. He sees Armie’s eyes fill with tears and a single one spills over. Timmy is quick to catch it with his thumb. “No crying or I have to kiss you.” He threatens.

Armie smiles at that, sniffling. His thumbs rub lightly against his arms and he relishes in Timmy's softness, even in speaking of how "terrifying" he could be. Armie shakes his head slightly and turns to press his face against one of Timmy's arms, letting the hand that holds it loop around and rest on his chest. He likes him like this, bold, soothing, framing him in safety. He’s somehow more enamored with him now that he had been twenty minutes ago. "I'll let my bodyguard know he's out of a job," he jokes while sniffling again, still trying to hide the hurt, but his voice is too tired and fond for it to sound like anything but a sigh.

“Good idea.” Timmy mumbles and can’t stop himself from kissing his hairline now. He hopes Armie feels him as a cage of safety. “I’ll kick their asses.” He feels a wetness against his arm and wishes he could make it better. He wishes the prospect of having someone to truly care about him wouldn’t shock Armie this much but he’s glad he can be that one either way. “Everybody watch out. Armie Hammer is now under the care of one of the most dangerous persons on this planet. If you start shit you’ll turn into brain pudding.” He has to snort at his own words. “Don’t ask me what that is. I just came up with it.”

"You idiot," he laughs, but there's no bite. He sniffles and nuzzles his arm, pressing his lips against him even though he said no kissing; he is pretty sure he'd broken that rule himself. He grabs back a hold of both of his arms and tugs gently, whispering, "Let me hug you," in a soft voice, still turned away from his eyes.

“Alright, Alright.” Timmy shuffles until he lies down on top him completely, hides his face in the crook of his neck and lets his arms splay over Armie’s head. “Also I’m not an idiot. I’m protecting you. Finding out that this is a good idea practically already makes me smarter than a lot of other people.” He mumbles.

He hums in response, greedily pulling him closer and letting his arms grip material, one hand at his shoulder, another at his waist. He presses his face against the side of his head and takes a deep breath, letting the smell of his shampoo and cologne soothe his senses. "Mmm I'm not going to fight you there," he relents, voice low in his chest.

“Mmh good.” Timmy hummed pressing their heads together and closer into his chest wanting to feel every little inch. He shifts his legs, too so he can entwine them with Armie’s and they’re a big tangle of limbs. Timmy loves how his voice sounds now. Soothing and also just a tad sexier than normally which is already bad enough.

There is something oddly soothing in the way he stretches out on top of him like this, like he’s claiming him as his own. It made Armie blush and he holds him tighter, trying to hide the color on his cheeks. "I wish I every night could be like this, you all over me, warm. I don't want to go home, I don't want _you_ to go home," he says. "Wish you'd just stay forever." Maybe he shouldn't say it, but he feels it.

Armie must know he’s not making it easier for them. He must realise that of course that’s what they both want. He thinks back to earlier. The idea he’d had. “This will sound stupid and it’s probably a terrible idea but... would you go on a vacation with me? Just me? You can bring the kids of course. Just us as friends though. Then we can have this for a little while.” He mumbles.

"Just us," he repeats. He lets his hands dance along his back absentmindedly, picturing them back on a beach together. Alone. But he can't—surely he can't do that. They would be so suspicious, Elizabeth would question him, what would people think—He couldn't...

It occurs to him that the only person who could stop him from going was himself, that Elizabeth goes to Austin so often, she might excuse a short trip to the Cayman's, and their PR teams would handle their images, it would be okay. He’s the only one stopping this. His hands pause, and he nods slowly. "When? Soon? Can we go to the Cayman's?" He'd been dying to take him there.

 

Timmy blinks surprised heartbeat taking flight in his chest. “Really?” He asks excited before he stops himself. He better not wait until Armie changes his mind again. “Uhm I mean of course. I don’t know. I really didn’t expect to get that far.” He admits and chuckles, pulling back slightly to look at Armie and see the excitement there. “Cayman’s, of course. I don’t know. We have Texas on Thursday. If we don’t do Tokyo we could go from there. You have to stay until Sunday, right? Bring your stuff and we can fly out Monday?” He suggests.

 

"Monday," he says. He’s anxious as hell just thinking about the conversations he'd have to have before then but he wants to go. He nods a little. "You didn't think I'd say yes?" he asks, though he can't blame him. He is surprised himself, but if he doesn’t confirm it with him now, he would never take the leap to even _try_ to go somewhere with him, alone.

Timmy shakes his head. “Not really. I thought you’d be too afraid we do something wrong. Even if we could get away with brushing it off as just a bro trip. Which technically it is of course. Just a different friendship than that of other people.” He explains twisting his fingers into Armie’s hair as he talks. “For how long though?” He asks thinking about the fact Armie would have to jet to New York more often now due to his play.  There are possibilities for stolen afternoons there. Even if it only means sleeping entwined like this.

 _Something wrong_ , he can't even think about it. He can't think about any of this or it'll tear him apart. _Focus on Timmy,_ he tells himself, but it's not easy. His fingers in his hair help, his heart picking up. "I don't know," he shakes his head. A few days? A week? Dare he push it further? Would someone notice? Surely Elizabeth would mind, but would she stop him? Could he tell her he is going with Timmy? Would he have to keep that a secret, too? She wouldn't let him take the kids, god she would never let him take them, he could never have them. He looks at Timmy and tries to smile. "I don't really know what's going on with my schedule," he says.

“We’ll figure it out. It’s fine. Now stop worrying.” He can see it in Armie’s eyes. That’s not what he’d wanted when he had suggested the trip. They could go for hours and Timmy would be happy. He puts his head back into the crook of Armie’s neck. “Just relax.”

Armie tries but his head is spinning. He wraps his arms around Timmy's shoulders and presses his nose against his hair. After a few steadying breaths he loosens his grip a little and sighs, pressing his lips against him softly. A sudden chill goes through him and he reaches down, trying to pull the blankets back up over them without disrupting Timmy too much.

Timmy lets Armie sit up while holding him tightly to get the blankets. He just buries his in his neck and enjoys the closeness. The holding. The blanket spreads over them and Timmy sighs snuggling a bit further under Armie’s chin. “I’m already sorry for rambling on Thursday.” He mumbles.

"Ramble all you want, I don't care," he smiles. "I've done so many of these for you it's about time you rambled." He wants nothing more than to wake up next to him, today and every day, not caring about the consequences. Maybe there would be none, maybe they could live in a world where love is love like Elio and Oliver did.

“Apparently you have no idea how bad this is going to be.” Timmy says and chuckles. “The man who loves you has to say a couple of things about how amazing you are. But I think you know the important parts already.” He mumbles.

Armie smiles a little at the thought of Timmy going on and on. He always worried he'd do it himself when asked about Timmy, had learned early on to have a set list of things to say and stick to it or he'd dig himself into a hole. He wants him to say it all, a part of him wants Timmy to say _everything_. But he knows that would probably be their worst case scenario, considering. "Just...don't be too obvious," he says softly, cringing a little at how it sounds leaving his lips.

Timmy chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve ever been successful at that. God you looked like the red sin tonight. How could anyone expect me to keep cool?” He nuzzles Armie’s neck even has his beard scratches him. He knows what Armie meant though. But nobody had noticed up to now. They would be fine. Hopefully.

"Says the literal angel," he chuckles, his fingers lifting to toy with Timmy's hair. This time it would be different. "But yeah... I mean... this time people might notice. Just promise to be careful, okay? I wouldn't have asked you to do it if I didn't want to hear you get up there and talk, but if you sound in love with me it'll... it'll just be obvious." He isn’t sure why he’s nervous to talk about it, to tell Timmy what he’s in for. He isn’t even sure what they are in for in Austin.

“I’ve sounded in love with you ever since you burst into my piano lesson.” Timmy points out. “If no one noticed up to now we are good. It’s hardly gonna get worse.” He moves his leg and soothingly strokes Armie’s shin with his foot. “I’ll be careful. I promise.” He says because he knows this is important to Armie. “I’m so glad you were there for me tonight. I would’ve FaceTimed you at the Oscars, too.”

Armie's breathing sputters with the new contact and he closes his eyes. He can't tell him, he wanted him to have a little more time before the worry set in. The thing was, people _had_ noticed. They'd been calling them a couple, and pointing out their chemistry—on screen _and_ off. "Yeah, which is probably why I got told by multiple people that you had feelings," he reminds him, regrets the words, wishes he could drop it. "Anyways, I told you, I wouldn't have missed it for anything. No flu was going to stop me," he says.

Timmy frowns. “What do you want me to do? Say hey look this man is so super in love with his wife and had to pretend to love someone like me. Surely there was a lot of acting needed better give him an award for that.” He grumbles feeling a little stung. He knows Armie is right but—it’s literally their last public event. Why should it be this much worse? “Why are you so worried? You never were this afraid at the other things.” He asks confused. This just didn’t sound like Armie.

"I don't know, I don't know, Timmy," he grumbles, covering his face and taking a deep breath. He doesn’t want to have to talk about this, he wished it wouldn’t even be an issue. He moves his hands to Timmy's back and trails them to his arms. He has to tell him, it’s too late. He’s already upset. "My mother's going to be there," he whispers, his voice shaking.

Timmy shoots up from where he’d been tugged under Armie’s chin. “What?” His heart races in his chest. He’s going to see her. He’s going to hold this speech in front of her. It makes rage bubble up in his tummy. Makes him want to tell her how happy Armie is here and how dare her hurt him even now? But he can see this is important for Armie. “I’m going to behave. I’ll try. But if she says one thing—just one thing—“ Timmy feels his eyes water. “I promise nothing. No! Don’t say anything. I’m not going to let her beat us down. Just because this is a gay love story she has no right- no right at all—” the anger makes him feels breathless and he has to gasp. “Her religion doesn’t excuse this hatred!”

Armie feels his eyes fill with moisture, and as much as his instincts to tell Timmy to back down from this fight, it feels goddamn good to hear him defend them so assuredly. "I don't want you to fight with her, it's not worth it. You'll say something, there will be cameras." He touches Timmy's cheek gently. "She doesn't... know. About this, you... me." He swallows and lets his hand wander to the spot on Timmy's neck he used to hold to kiss him steadier.

The touch brings back muscle memory and Timmy swallows. “I figured. If she doesn’t even approve of us acting—” he points out. “And there’s nothing to know anyway. What we have—it’s none of their business. This is something too precious to be shared with people who don’t deserve it.” He makes clear.

"She's going to see," he whispers, biting back emotion. "She'll see the way you look at me, how I look at you," his voice breaks and he shakes his head. He'd spent so many years building a wall between himself and his parents, carefully constructing it so he could hide in plain sight when necessary. This was taking an ax to it. "She's going to say things, Timmy, and I know they don't matter but they _do_."

Timmy’s heart hurts. He wishes viciously and with such fierceness that Armie doesn’t have to hide any of this. That neither of them has to. “So let her see and talk.” He reaches out and covers Armie’s ears while leaning down to touch their foreheads together. _Don’t Listen to them. Don’t even look at them. I’m here._

Armie wishes it were that easy, but for now it could be. They could deal with it later, right now he just wants to hold him until the pain goes away and sleep overtakes him. "She's going to hate you, you know? You're too open, she'll think you corrupted me with all that love," he means it as a joke but he knows it falls flat the moment he says it, emotion still caught in his throat.

“I hate her for everything she did to you so we are on the same page. I’ll let everyone decide who has the more valid reasons.” He lets his thumb stroke the side of Armie’s face. Neither can deny any emotion when they are close like this. “I think there are worse things than being corrupted by _love_.”

Armie nods, half to please Timmy, half because he wants to believe that it'll be okay. It’s just one night. He leans into his touch and sighs. He tries to remember that he's _sick_ and kissing him is a very bad idea, but maybe just once, maybe it would be okay if he didn't get carried away. "I don't know what I'd do if I hadn't met you," he whispers.

Timmy lets out a shaky breath. They are close, too close. The tips of their noses are brushing together now and Timmy can feel his resolve melting. “We wouldn’t have known.” He whispers. “But I don’t believe in a universe where we don’t meet at all. I truly think we are destined to meet.” He explains quietly.

"Destiny," Armie whispers. He brushes his nose along his a fraction of an inch, shivering at the feel. "Like soulmates?" he asks, lowering his nose to skim his jaw. Lips against his throat couldn't get him sick, right? It’s a dangerous game, he knows he should stop before exhaust takes over and decides for them to just go to sleep.

Timmy feels Armie’s lips brush against his neck and it makes his toes curl. “Yes. Like soulmates.” He breathes. He reaches one hand down and grabs Armie’s shoulder to roll them around. His other hand goes into his hair holding him at his neck while he tips his head back to give him more access.

Armie knows this is a bad idea but it was Timmy and he wants something to keep bad dreams away. He nuzzles against his neck and presses his lips against him harder, more intentional, his hand coming up to skate across the skin. "You think I'm your soulmate?" he asks, genuinely curious. He had never believed in that stuff.

“Of course, I do.” Timmy closes his eyes trying to catch his breath. “You’re driving me crazy. In a good way.” He mumbles. When he feels a little calmer he squints down at Armie and catches him deep in thought. “What are you thinking about?” He asks curiously and brushes his fingertips across his forehead.

 _You, always you_. Armie turns his face towards Timmy's shoulder, pressing his eyes closed, his lips to his sweater. He lets rests his forearms on his shoulder, tucked over each other to rest his head on so he can see Timmy. _Home_. "I didn't know it could be like this," he whispers. He lets out a shaky breath and rolls off Timmy, afraid to hurt him with his weight.

Timmy follows him like they are connected with a bond. Now he curls into Armie’s shoulder. “Why shouldn’t it be possible? We were never afraid to cuddle up. Remember when we watched documentaries after Liz was gone in Crema and I fell asleep on your shoulder and panicked when I woke up? We were inseparable after that.” Timmy reminds him, pauses, thinks and then adds. “But I think I didn’t expect this to be possible so soon. It feels like something you should be more comfortable for. To just lie in bed and hold each other.” He says and settles his hand on Armie’s chest where he can feel the heartbeat.

He covers his hand and holds it to him tightly. He doesn’t know what time it is by now, but it has to be late and he feels every hour he'd been up. He'd probably have gone to bed long ago if he wouldn’t be having an out of body experience in Timmy's bed, holding him, confessing. It’s worth the tired eyes he’s sure to have tomorrow. "I was always afraid to hold you, you know. I didn't know if it was okay, I felt like I was being cruel. But that's not... that's not what I meant."

“What did you mean then?” Timmy asks curiously. He wants to let Armie sleep but he needs to know this because he won’t be able to ask come tomorrow. They are going to be different persons. Friends surely. But nothing more. They could not cross the line like they did tonight. They had to find a way back to how they could be together without opening wounds at every move and word.

Armie lets his hand wander over Timmy's shoulders, uncertain as to where his shyness comes from after everything tonight. He twists their hands together on his chest and sighs. "Love," he says softly. "I didn't know loving you could be like this." He remembers what Timmy said about Crema, how they'd held each other sometimes. He had always been so afraid to cross lines, to hold him too, to scare him off. He realizes now that he was an idiot and he should have soaked up every opportunity because _this_ , this is everything. He turns into Timmy's body until he's nearly on top of him, his arm swiping out to hold his back, burrowing his face against his neck to hide the heat he felt creeping up onto his cheeks. "I didn't know it'd feel like home," he mumbles against him.

Tears are in Timmy’s eyes again and he doesn’t know how often that had happened tonight but Armie had just kept saying things that had made him tear up because they are so honest and raw and laden with emotions. He wraps his arms around Armie’s neck and holds him tightly. “Welcome home, Armie.” He mumbles, sniffles, hides his face in his neck. He thinks about a young Armie being forced to move to LA where everyone is pointing fingers at him and the air tastes of smoke instead of the sea. How much he must’ve missed his home on the Cayman’s. He thinks about a 16-year-old Armie leaving what’s supposed to be his home because he’s suffocating there. He has went from the small, fat kid to the tall and lanky one but it’s no help. He’s fucking alone because he’s still a kid but no one gives a damn about him. He thinks about years of building up walls between himself and everything he had felt and wanted to feel and how he had just needed someplace, some _one_ to be himself with. He holds him all the tighter thanks to it, maybe even more desperate than Armie himself. “Welcome home.” He repeats even as his voice sounds wet and he knows Armie can hear that he’s crying again.

Armie can't stop himself from tears this time, but he knows Timmy is, too, so he doesn't care. Sometimes he felt like he was taking his life from him, making him spend all his best years by his side when he could be out somewhere having fun, falling in love, being reckless and young. He knew Timmy loved him, but he never realized how much. He remembers being in love at 22, he didn't love like this, he couldn't. And yet here Timmy is, loving him with every part of his soul. It’s consuming, and Armie never wanted to leave his arms ever again, out of sheer fear of the cold when they'd separate. Words aren’t his forte, he'd been trained to hold back. Timmy makes him want to speak, to say everything in his chest and his soul and his mind. He still worries about this, and honestly, he isn't sure what will happen in the morning. But for now, he lets himself be home with Timmy. "Thank you," he whispers, because it's the only thing he could possibly say to begin to express what he was feeling.

Timmy smiles a little, knows Armie is happy here and now so there was no reason to cry but yet they both were. He nods to accept the thanks. His throat feels tight and his cheeks are wet from all the crying. “Thank you for letting me be your home, too.” He reminds Armie that this is just as important to him. Although his parents are supportive and NYC is a part of his soul that didn’t mean there’s not another piece of his soul that he found in Armie and that belongs to him just as much. He has to chuckle a little at how it must look. Entwined like a knot and both of them crying. “We are two idiots.” He mumbles, swallows, tries to stop the tears. He doesn’t want to waste more time crying when Armie was right here in his arms. “You can always come home, you know. Just say the word,” he assures him and wipes his cheeks before leaning his head against Armie’s. _Home, soulmate, love of my life_. There are many names to describe what Armie means to him, not one of them even coming close to expressing the feeling in his chest. And yet he knows he can never say these words on Thursday, or any other day, to anyone else in public, or privacy. It only exists between them in this night.

Armie nods and shifts so he can cuddle up to Timmy like he used to let him in Crema, arm still draped over him as if it were Timmy that needed protecting. He feels sleep creep up but doesn't want to let go of this moment, not yet. He presses his lips to Timmy's shoulder, stretches to reach his neck, presses his lips against skin, his teary eyes against his jaw. After his lips separate, he lingers, breathing against him, trying to memorize everything about him in this moment, his smell, the feel of his own sweater—now Timmy's—against his bare chest, his heart beating under his hand, his warmth which radiates both physically and emotionally, the solid sound of his love. He never wants to forget. He tries to form words but can't, too overwhelmed by it all. He has no idea tonight would bring him here, in his arms, safe.

Timmy knows they agreed not to kiss but Armie is making it very hard for him. He looks down at him, sees him struggling. “You don’t have to say anything.” He promises him. “You should sleep. It’s late and you’re sick and I’ll be there in the morning.” He assures him and reaches out to stroke his cheek.

"Promise?" he whispers, snuggling closer. He shivers against Timmy, his hands reaching for him, pulling him tighter. He hasn't fallen asleep next to Timmy on purpose since Italy, when they stayed out to watch the stars, their shoulders touching. Timmy had gotten up early for piano practice that day, though, and Armie woke up alone. Everything about this feels new, yet it is as if he'd been there, all his life, waiting in the wings.

“Promise.” He says and lets his hand wander into Armie’s hair playing with the strands of his hair until he’s sure he’d fallen asleep. He drops his hand then, holds Armie now with a hand on his shoulder blade. He turns his head a little and mumbles into his skin, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.” Hoping it would take root in Armie’s brain so it was something he would never doubt.

Armie sighs against him, letting his touch lull him to sleep. Words pass through him as if he's underwater, someone shouting across a pool, a river. He wants to hold tight to them, knowing it's his voice he's hearing, but unable to make it out in his dream-like state. Perhaps he isn't saying anything at all, maybe Armie imagines it, dreams it. It wouldn't be the first time he's dreamed of Timmy, of his hands and his hair, his soft voice and his laughter, the way he says Armie's name when he’s tired and full of sleep, how he says it when something amazing happens and the only person he wants to tell is him. The words drift away from him as he falls deeper into sleep, one word ringing out among the white noise, _love_.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say thank you to everyone who's reading this story. Your kudos and comments mean so much to the both of us. Yall are awesome!

Timmy wakes when the sun creeps through the window into their room. He stretches and feels a weight on his chest. _Armie,_ he thinks and his heart grows in his chest. He’s still asleep and his face is soft and young without worry. Timmy smiles and strokes the skin of his back. He remembers last night. The confessions, the kisses, the love. It’s still here. In this room. Until Armie wakes. So, Timmy stays as still as possible while he watches him sleep and just holds him.

Sleep leaves him slowly, passing from his body like a memory. He takes a deep breath, a small noise accompanying the air as it leaves in a sigh. He grabs something, fabric, pulls it closer, inhales. _Timmy_ , he thinks; it smells like Timmy. And then he remembers, his eyes opening to see a sweater in his hand, his chest under his cheek, his hand on his back. He closes his eyes quickly and releases the material, covering his face and turning in towards Timmy to hide. This is a dream, it feels like a dream, except logically he knows it isn’t. _I love you_ , he remembers, he remembers saying it and hearing it, the words echoing over and over again and he wonders if those were the words he fell asleep to. He makes a noise and crosses his leg over Timmy's, shivering when he remembers that he stripped down and is barely wearing anything, the fever less intense today, leaving him to steal warmth where he could.

Timmy feels a little breathless when he realises the first thing Armie does, is curl into him further. He lets out a breath he hadn’t know he’d been holding. Maybe if they stayed quiet the night would stretch a little longer between them. So he wordlessly brings his other arm up and wraps it around Armie, too. He can feel goosebumps under his fingertips and rubs the skin to transfer some warmth. In the middle of it he reaches and pulls the blanket higher up and then continues under the blanket once it was covering their bodies up to their shoulders again.

He leans into the touch and scrunches his shoulders up to his ears, comforted by the fact that he'd stayed in bed with him despite already being awake. Another long sigh leaves his lips and he relaxes against Timmy, turning to putty with his hands on him. He knows he needs to call Elizabeth and explain but he can't bring himself to move yet. Moving means reality, and he likes where he is too much to disrupt the bubble they are in. He can hear some commotion outside the door but ignores it, too. Nothing matters except this. He snakes his hand under Timmy's sweater and smiles against him when he's awarded with more warmth, his hand pulling him against him. "Morning," he whispers.

So Armie had said Morning and yet his hand is under his sweater... Timmy had thought there would be a line, more like a wall that they wouldn’t be able to cross once the sun had climbed up into the sky again. But Armie is still soft and true in his arms. “Morning.” He mumbles back and moves his head forward a bit so their noses can brush together in an Eskimo kiss.

The temptation to close the distance is almost too much to take, but there are still uncertainties they have to face, and the last thing Armie wants is for either of them to regret last night's honesty. So instead, he presses his nose against his cheek and removes his hand from Timmy's abdomen so he can hold his chin, turning it to press his lips against his jaw lightly before releasing him and snuggling back into his chest. Morning cuddles had always been his favorite, but he can't remember the last time he had been granted them.

Timmy hadn’t expected for the touches and kisses to return so casually. It takes him a long moment to realise that Armie is okay with this as long as they are alone. What does that mean for their trip to the Cayman’s? He loses himself into images of white beaches and cuddles despite it being so hot they were dripping with sweat. That thought led him down a completely different line of thought and he has to shake his head to stop himself. Instead he focuses back on Armie.  “How’s your stomach?” he asks honestly concerned. It had been an intense night on top of everything after all.

Armie shrugs and considers the question carefully. He doesn't feel quite so sick anymore, but he still felt off. He tells himself it must be the flu, not this, not waking up with him. "It's okay," he says, thinking it's a safe answer. He'd been worse, he'd been better. "Hey Timmy," he sighs into his chest. "D'you know where my phone landed?" he mumbles. He feels like he’s neglecting his real life, huddled up with Timmy. It feels like it'd be taken from him in an instant.

Timmy looks towards his nightstand and thinks that of course he wanted his phone. He had people that worried about him. He wonders whether he’d told Elizabeth he was staying over. His grip on him tightens momentarily. “I don’t know. Battery has probably died anyway,” he points out trying to sound like he didn’t really care.

Armie hears it, though, the feigned indifference. He hears his voice turn cold and he can't blame him. He wishes he didn't have to think about it. "She'll come over here looking for me if I don't call," he whispers. "Sorry, I don't want to ruin this, but..." He can't bring himself to finish. A war has been happening in Armie's chest for months now, maybe even for the past year and a half. He feels like all the soldiers are finally set up and about to charge at one another, their battleground his heart. He pulls Timmy closer and wraps his arm around his waist, hoping it'll soften his words.

Timmy nods put pushes the arms away. “I know. It’s okay. Do whatever you have to do. I’m gonna take a shower.” He mumbles and slips out of the covers and tiptoes over to the wardrobe. He slides the door open and tries to ignore Armie who he can see in the mirror out of the corner of his eyes. He tries to pretend this is a normal morning instead and picks boxers, socks, a shirt and pants to wear today.

He wants to go after him, to stop him from walking away, but he _has_ to call her and if he follows he'll just end up fighting with him or in the shower with him and he isn’t sure either scenario would help anything. The bed is cold now and he hates it. His absence is immediate and unsettling and he fucking _hated_ it. So, he swings his legs out and stands in his room, watching him gather his things, noting his own suit folded up on the chair to Timmy's left. He wanders over to it and pauses, looking at Timmy. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm really fucking sorry," he mutters.

Timmy pauses in his motions. Armie is desperate. Obviously, he hated this situation as much as Timmy did. “It’s not your fault. I said it last night and I meant it. But I’m not gonna stay tugged under your arm while you call her. That’s just not happening,” he makes clear. They need distance for these parts, especially after they’ve been so raw with each other.

Armie nods, he knows he's right. That would devastate him, too—he hadn't even thought about it, calling her with him in the room, listening. Of course that would kill him. "Okay, I'll... okay. Go take your shower," he says with a small smile and another nod. He closes his arms over his chest, realizing there are subtleties to this that he hadn't anticipated, like the mixture of love and hurt in Timmy's eyes when he mentions last night, the knowledge that he now had to sit in this room where he'd confessed his feelings hours ago and tell his wife nothing is wrong. These are exactly the reasons he had held off on telling Timmy how he felt, he hadn’t been sure they'd be able to survive this.

Timmy closes the door of the bathroom behind him and then hesitates. He can hear no sound from the other side of the door. He imagines Armie standing there, the pants of his suit in one hand and hesitating. Maybe, he's looking at this door, maybe he's contemplating to follow him, damn the consequences. But no, neither of them can go there so he reaches out and turns the lock.   
With a sigh he drops his fresh clothes and starts to peel the sweater and the pants off. He looks down at himself, tries to see the lines Armie's fingers had traced on his skin. Surely, there must be something left. It can't just be gone like this. He almost storms out and begs Armie to leave marks, scars, anything visible to make this night real. But that’s stupid, of course. He would stay in here and shower and wash away the last traces.   
Timmy sighs and lets his head sink forward to rest against his chest. _I love you_. He'd said it and Armie had said it back. They'd dreamed about a world where they could happen. He wonders if their trip to the Cayman's is just another one of these things they just said because they'd been feeling so much and yet something that can never have an effect in the real world.   
He hears his muffled voice through the door and decides he doesn't want to hear what he's saying. Doesn't want to hear him deny last night so he climbs into the shower to turn the water on. It's burning hot and yet just what he needed. The noise of the water is drowning out everything else. Timmy lets the water hit his neck and watches the water flow through the drain taking with them the cells of his skin Armie has touched, kissed, loved.   
In a desperate motion he falls to his knees but is oblivious to the way it hurts him. His hands try to stop the water from escaping but it keeps running through his fingers. A sob fights his way out of his chest and Timmy suddenly can't hold the sorrow back. All that he can do is curl up on the floor of the shower and let the water take his tears away as well. Maybe they would find their way to the cells Armie has touched. Timmy knows he’s being pathetic but can’t change it when his chest is hurting like that, his heart feeling like it’s falling apart.   
He knows he has get up in a few minutes and put his fresh clothes on like an armor. He'd walk out there and talk to him because he’s an adult. He's been dealing with these feelings since Crema. That Armie felt the same should change _nothing_. But somehow everything seems to be collapsing around him.

He listens for a moment for the telltale sound of water, but it doesn't come immediately. He wonders if he'll come back out though he knows he won't. The time for that has passed. He sifts through his pockets and finds his phone miraculously on 5% battery, four missed calls, eight missed texts.   
He glances back at the door and clenches the phone in his hand, knowing something is happening between them in this moment that he can’t stop, some degree of separation he doesn’t want to admit to. He walks over to their vacant bed, sheets still strung out and pillows everywhere. He looks on Timmy's side for his charger, plugging his phone in when he finds it and sinking to the floor with his back against the bed he wouldn't sleep in again. He takes a few deep breaths and unlocks his phone, seeing texts ranging from casual to frantic anger. He ignores all of them, barely reading her words, opting instead to just call. He reaches up and yanks one of the blankets off the bed and wraps it around his shoulders.   
It rings twice. "God, what the hell! Where are you? Are you with him? Are you okay? You just left me there! What the hell is wrong—” He pulls the phone away from his ear and presses it to his forehead, taking another deep breath before pressing it back to his ear.

"Sorry, the meds kicked in and I passed out, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to stay here," he tells her. "It just happened." The latter part of that was true, at least. His words had just happened. His hands on Timmy's body had just happened. His lips against his throat, had just, _happened_.  
"Well... you should have called," she says, irritated.   
Armie tells her he's sorry again, tells her he really did just fall asleep.   
"Timmy, then. He should have called."   
_Can't control what Timmy does,_ he tells her, hearing the water, looking at the door.   
"Are you coming home?" She's exasperated and he doesn't want to be with her right now if she was going to be like this.   
He knows she was upset with him last night, but he isn’t sure why. This would only make it worse and he didn't have the energy. _Yeah, I'll be back_. He has to go back, he has no choice. _Getting breakfast with the Chalamets_ , because he wants more time, even if he isn't sure they want to see him, even if he’s terrified to walk out of Timmy's room and face them.   
"Fine. Whatever. Call when you remember who your family is."   
He hangs up and stares at his phone in his hand, letting it fall to the floor. He might throw up, he realizes, but he's not so sure it's from the flu. How had he fucked up this bad? He doesn’t want to take the last 12 hours back, but he’s terrified of everything, of Timmy walking out of the bathroom, of them walking out into his family's shared space, of going home, of Thursday, of kissing Elizabeth, of everything.

 

When Timmy unlocks the door, he's almost ready to face Armie, he almost looks put together, he can almost pretend he hasn't spent the last ten minutes crying violently. He opens the door and moves back into the space where so many things were said that they have to forget now. He sees Armie sit by the bed and thinks he looks sick but who wouldn't in the air that is still clutching all their words tight. It's almost like they are still floating around here, invisible and yet taunting. Timmy determinedly walks over to the window and opens it, breathes in the fresh morning air. "Are you staying for breakfast?" He asks without turning around. He isn't ready to read the answer to unasked questions in Armie's face.

 

At the sound of his voice, carefully, Armie sheds the blanket and tries to stand, gripping the bed for support as he gets to his feet. He watches Timmy's back and the distance between them feels important. His eyes skim down his body, resting at his ankles, his heart sinking. He glances at the bathroom and feels the warmth of steam rushing out from it, sees the sweater Timmy wore last night folded on the counter. He walks over to it with purpose, knowing Timmy was waiting for an answer but uncertain of whether or not he could speak just yet. The steam envelops him and he lets out a sigh as his fingers trail the familiar cloth. He pulls it on, over his head and inhales Timmy's lingering scent before walking back into the room. "If you don't mind," he says softly. He isn't sure what the rules are here.

Timmy turns around now. He takes him in, standing there in his sweater with wide eyes that were asking so many question. _Is this okay? Can I do that? What about this?_ It's just as considerate as Timmy had gotten to know him. He nods eventually. "Yes, that would be nice."   
They are silent and Timmy hates their awkwardness. He wants them to be friends again. Wants the levity back. "Just put on a pair of pants." He walks over to the wardrobe and fishes some wide jogging pants out. "They might still be a little short but better than boxers or your suit pants." He hands them over, watches Armie pull them on.   
"Okay," he says quietly and walks past him to the door, wishes he could take his hand and hold it. But not in this life. It isn’t supposed to be. He opens the door and trails into the kitchen area where the rest of the family is already gathered. "Morning." He kisses his parents' cheeks before sitting down between Pauline and an empty chair. "I hope you don't mind if Armie joins?" He asks as he gestures him closer from where he's still hovering in the doorway.

"Chéri, we expected him to." Nicole says. They avoided the breakfast halls often when they are all together to eat together in private.

 

When Armie was 17, he got caught walking out of a girl's bedroom in the middle of the night, her father in the kitchen with fire in his eyes. He apologized a million times. He'd thought that sleeping with her while her parents slept down the hall might be fun, but it was _not_ fun when her father told him to fuck off and never come back while sharpening a knife. He thinks he might like to return to that moment now, at least back then he got off on the recklessness of it all, at least he didn't care about the girl and what her father thought.

Timmy's dad glances at him with a smile and then he remembers with a start—this wasn't a family that judged. He looks between all of them, casually going about their morning. Pauline ruffles Timmy's hair and his parents move around each other in the kitchen exchanging smiles as they prepared breakfast. His heart fills and he pushes the emotion away from him for his own sake, letting his eyes settle on the chair next to Timmy and walking towards it cautiously. Marc greets him and he just smiles, nods, tries to find his voice among their kind eyes. He looks at Timmy and tries to settle down, his heart beating out of his chest.

 

Timmy exchanges a look with Pauline. She winks at him. Timmy shakes his head and grabs a toast and jam, starting to spread it on the bread before sneaking a look at Armie who still sits there paralysed. “You okay?” he mumbles and puts a hand on his thigh. Innocently but reassuring. Armie nods eventually and blinks slowly finding back into this moment apparently. Timmy smiles and wants to draw his hand back when it’s suddenly caught by Armie’s. Timmy can barely stop the blush on his cheeks.

“Nice sweater, Armie.” Pauline says and winks. Timmy had been wearing it often enough for her to easily recognise it.

The blush on Timmy’s cheeks intensifies. When Armie wants to let go though, surely thinking his family would mind, Timmy holds on.

 

His hand was probably the only thing keeping Armie from running, metaphorically, literally. He feels warm suddenly and out of breath. How many times had he played pretend, how many times had he acted as if nothing was amiss? He could do this, too. He clears his throat and takes a breath, trying to gain control over himself. "It's actually mine, so thanks," he says with a small smile, his fingers curling over Timmy's hand before reaching past him for some toast, mirroring Timmy's actions, trying to ground himself in whatever their normalcy was. He sees a glass of water in front of Timmy and he knows he probably had one too, but reaches for his, taking a slow drink and returning it, his blood still rushing in his ears. He can't bring himself to look at Timmy, fearing his facade would crack if he did, especially when his hand on his leg is enough to remind him of his mom walking in last night and seeing them curled around each other.

 

“Subtle,” Pauline mutters and Timmy kicks her for it under the table. She kicks him back. Timmy then looks at Armie tries to understand what he’s doing here. He’d thought he’d be shy, scared.

“Well, it’s Timmy’s favorite. He’s been wearing it a lot.” Pauline smirks at Armie.

Timmy decides to focus on eating. His toast is only covered halfway with jam but he is not taking his hand from Armie’s so he folds it together and eats it like that.

 

_What is he doing?_ Armie wonders, glancing down at the hand. Is he trying to make it obvious? Did they all already know? Could they hear them crying last night? He tries to focus on something to ground him but he still feels like he’s drifting. He likes Pauline, he always had. She knows, he’s sure of it, Timmy tells her everything. By her daring eyes and glance between them, her eyes dropping intentionally to Timmy's hand on his leg, Armie wagers she isn't going to back down.   
"Interesting," he says, trying to play it safe, trying to ignore how the fabric suddenly feels like a promise against his skin, worn over and over again by Timmy, so many times that it doesn't smell like Armie, so many times that he wants it to smell like Armie again so he can wear it more. He swallows and looks at his toast. Timmy's mom offers him orange juice and he accepts it with a smile, her gaze darting between them and then away with a fond smile. Do they not care? Surely they worry.

 

Timmy shoots a smile to his mom. They would talk when Armie is gone but until then he can enjoy this.

“Did you two sleep well?” She asks and pours more coffee.

His dad snorts and hides behind a gigantic French newspaper. Timmy rolls his eyes and lets go of Armie’s hand. “We did, thank you. We were both exhausted—“ he tries to find words that didn’t sound like they had a double meaning. “Look.” He rests his elbows on the table. “I know what this must look like but nothing happened and it’s gonna stay that way,” he explains.

“Uhhuh. That’s why he’s wearing your clothes which are actually his clothes that you’ve been wearing. That’s why you just held his hand pretending like we all suddenly went blind during the night,” Pauline accuses.

“Pauline.” Nicole says softly but firmly.

Timmy _knows_ she doesn’t mean it like that. She’s just teasing but it stings all the same. He’s doing his best as he’s trying to stay composed. “Excuse me,” he mumbles and stands up leaving the room to gain some breathing space. He can hear his mother scolding Pauline behind him but can’t bring himself to defend her right now. She’s right. Something has changed, obviously, but nothing has changed in the bigger picture. He walks to his bed, lifts up the blankets, buries his nose to smell the traces of their mixed scents.

 

Armie feels like he might spontaneously combust. He hadn't been embarrassed by something like this since he was dating Elizabeth; it puts him back in his youth when it was easier to talk around things. Timmy's blunt responses take his breath away and he's a bit startled by how similar his dynamic with his family really was to Elio's. It makes him ache for a life he doesn’t have. He watches Timmy walk away and feels him take a part of his heart with him. He should follow, he should stay. He's not sure which will win out.   
"Be nice, you know he's trying," Nicole says. His eyes dart back to her, following her gaze to Pauline who shrugs and gives a sympathetic smile.   
She tells him he loves you, don't you know? Armie nods. She tells him not to hurt him, Nicole tells her to be quiet, Marc saying something in French before nodding at Armie. He looks back at the door Timmy's disappeared behind.   
"Go, it's alright," Marc says. Armie can't believe him, he stares at him dumbfounded as the older man shrugs. _Go?_ Timmy had no idea, no fucking idea. He was so goddamn lucky.   
Armie nods and stands slowly, touching the counter and glancing at Pauline who smiles at her food. Then he walks towards his bedroom, pushing the door open and closing it behind him. Timmy's sitting on the mattress, his body haphazardly covered with blankets that he fists in his hands at his face. Armie goes and sits next to him, places a hand on his shoulder carefully.

 

Timmy tips to the side into his open arm instantly. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles. “I thought I’d be okay- I- for some reason I thought I could handle it. Turns out I can’t.” He mumbles. He doesn’t know how to go on now even with the prospect of seeing Armie soon. It would be different. His mother would be there and so would _she_.

“I just wish I could have this for real, forever. Breakfast with the family and holding hands under the table and I can call you babe and you can call me darling and I can kiss the jam from your lips and and—” Timmy gasps for air, pain overtaking him. “I’m sorry, I’m whiny.” He quickly apologises, feels the need to do so since he feels like he’s been saying the same thing over and over. Just because he wants this, doesn’t make it possible.

 

Armie's heart breaks and falls to pieces in the shallow puffs of air leaving Timmy's lips. He pulls him closer to his chest and presses a kiss against his damp hair, closes his eyes, fights the urge to run away right now. "I know," he says, nodding, pressing his lips against him again. "I know, I'm so sorry. I knew this would happen. I should have known, I shouldn't have come, I never wanted to disrupt you like this," he says. "That's not—I don't mean I regret last night, I just... I'm sorry things aren't different." Timmy would have to give answers after Armie leaves, he realizes, and he doesn’t have any to offer. He wants to hold him in his arms and keep reality from seeping in and ruining their one night of confessions.

 

Timmy nods. “It’s fine. I knew what I was getting into.” He hadn’t but it’s not like it’s going to change anything now. “I don’t want you to go but the further we push it off, the worse it’s going to get.” He mumbles. He had nothing else to do today but wallow in self-pity and he knows it’s what he’s going to do. He turns his face to hide it in Armie’s neck.

 

"You want me to leave?" Armie asks, trying to hide the hurt from seeping into his voice. It’s never going to get better, he realizes. It’s always going to be this, a painful embrace, careful words, broken hearts being held together just barely by each other. He holds him, his hands firm on his back as if it could keep him from walking away both physically and emotionally.

 

“Of course not! I never want you to leave.” He says offended. He had thought he’d made that much clear. He pulls back and looks at Armie, sees the hurt even as he’s carefully trying to hide it. “But if you don’t leave now I’ll end up kissing you and where would that lead us?” He asks knowing he was giving an ultimatum. _Kiss me now or leave_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Armie does??? Stay tuned...


	4. Chapter 4

Armie shakes his head and feels his eyes slip closed with the words. How do you choose between the life you lived and the one you were meant for? Lip trembling, hands shaking, he lowers his arms and nods. "Okay," he whispers. "I get it." His gaze drops to Timmy's lips and he wonders if this is a mistake, if he would regret this, if when he went home he'd feel the weight of this moment crush him. Carefully, he lifts a hand to touch Timmy's cheek, fingers smoothing out over the skin once contact creates goosebumps. He swallows, his mouth dry, and lets the pad of his thumb drop to Timmy's lip. "What if I want to kiss you? Then what? Can I stay for breakfast?" he knows it's not the time to make light, but he's breathless and he's barely even touched him.

Timmy lets out a shaky breath. He doesn’t understand. Why— suddenly—?! The touch on his lips drives him insane. Reminds him of a different time they’d kissed. Timmy’s hands fist in his sweater suddenly sweaty. Armie can’t possibly mean this. He would _not_ actually cross the line. Yes he might _want to_ but he would never actually do it. So Timmy decides to attack, call him out. His tongue darts out and licks the patch of his thumb then curls around it pulling it in.

_Oh shit_ , Armie thinks, his forehead falling against Timmy's. How could he forget— he likes to tease. He can still hear his family having breakfast, hears laughter somewhere in the distance. He shouldn't, this would only come back to haunt him, he’s sure of it. Hadn't he held back last night for a reason? Timmy's tongue drives all logical thinking from him and he feels too warm. What if he is still sick, what if he gives it to Timmy, he’s definitely still contagious— does he care? Is it worth it? "You didn't— you, answer the question," he breathes, eyes still closed. He's afraid to take the leap, he realizes. He's afraid that tomorrow he won't be able to kiss him, that it'll make everything worse if they cave now. Is it lust that consumes him, or love? Could he wait this out?

Timmy pulls his tongue back. He doesn't understand why that question is important. "You want to know what happens if you want to kiss me? Nothing because just wanting it is not enough,” he explains. His thoughts race, following this path down further. He takes a deep breath. "But if you _do_ kiss me..." His voice is very quiet now, almost like he's scared to say these words. "If you kiss me, you could hurt me all you want because I will always be hoping for it to happen again." He trembles as he says it. It's too true even with the night they had it feels like a lot to admit.

"That scares me," he tells Timmy, honestly. His lips are practically brushing against Timmy's at this point, but he still hesitates. He doesn't want to ruin him, he doesn't want to ruin himself, either. This shouldn't be something that ruined _anything_. "If we always, we're always gonna want this, and if we can't," he brushes his nose against Timmy's. "God, fuck it." He presses his lips against him before he changes his mind, his fingers slipping into Timmy's hair. He knows this could be a mistake, he knows he could pull away and tell him to stop, could tell him that this was too much.

Timmy feels the definition of white noise in his brain for moment before he can move. Before the only thing on his mind is _savour it, it’s not coming back_. His hands in his sweater pull him closer instantly while he moves closer himself. But mostly he focuses on their lips, on the way it feels when they are kissing. It’s not the first time he’s kissed Armie. Not even as Armie. There were moments during filming where the characters would slip away from them. It happened. They never talked about that but this— this is for him. Every second of it because they are in love and can’t stand this any longer. Their kiss is just as desperate as they feel and so is their pulling at each other. He never wants this to end. When Armie moves back Timmy follows so that they soon lie sprawled on the bed, making out heatedly.

Armie's hand finds its way under Timmy's shirt, skin, seeking skin, only skin. There's something in the way Timmy holds him that makes him dizzy and he forgets to breathe, having to part to gulp air into his lungs greedily, his nose skimming Timmy's jaw. Nothing has ever felt like this, he thinks, though that couldn't possibly be true. In this moment, it's the only truth he knows. He hears his family outside the door and wonders how much time they have, how long they've been gone, if they know what's happening ten yards from them. He tries to remember this to avoid kissing Timmy too hard, knowing they'd see his lips and know the second they had to go back out there.

Timmy can practically hear him thinking and it pisses him off. He pulls off fiercely and looks at him with a determined fire in his eyes. “Since this is the only time I can have this could you please stop thinking about anything else but me and this?” he commands angrily and goes in for another kiss, aggressive this time with his teeth.

Armie tries not to moan, tries to hold back, to think logically about this, but he's _right_. They might not get this again, as badly as he wants it. He sighs into him and lets go, kisses him back with as much heat as he’s getting, presses his hand against his hip. "Sorry," he mumbles, trailing his lips from Timmy's to the hollow of his throat, sucking lightly before turning to kiss the spot his pulse jumps under his ear and then to back to his lips. He touches his cheek, his hair, tries to memorize this moment where it was the two of them, not their characters, no pretense, just love.

Timmy melts now, becomes absolutely putty under Armie’s hands. _There you are_ , he thinks fondly. This is only Armie, the true one, the one madly in love with him. It makes him heady to even think this so he concentrates on his lips again, runs his hands under the loose sweater and touches and takes and kisses and claims. _My_ love, my _love_ , _my love_.

Armie breaks from him and hovers, letting their breath mingle together until it belongs to both of them and neither of them. His hand traces lines down his face as he touches his forehead to Timmy's, gently brushes his nose against his. Time no longer exists in his arms, and he wonders with a small, sad smile if he'll ever feel like this again. He remembers Timmy's plea and tries to push the thought away and keep his emotions from bubbling over. He lets his thumb touch Timmy's chin before slipping his fingers back into his hair to hold on a little longer to this stolen moment, his lips meeting Timmy's with a sigh that means a million things, but mostly, _I love you._

Their kiss is tender now and it brings tears to Timmy’s eyes. This is perfect and that’s exactly the reason why it feels so much like a goodbye. Timmy’s hands go into Armie’s hair to hold him in place. He’d made a promise and it’s all true but he doesn’t want it to end. _Hurt me all you want. Just a little bit later._

Sometimes Timmy has this uncanny ability to make Armie forget himself, to forget he even existed outside of moments with him. It’s absurd, because of course he does, but his fingers in his hair make it hard to remember what it was like before he knew him, if he even was alive before then. He wants the moment to last, he wants to run away, to grow old with him in their own parallel life where his children are his as well, where love is expected and anticipated and celebrated, where he can hold his hand at the grocery store. His breath shudders out of him, his lips parting from Timmy's for a moment to steady himself, pressing their chests together a little harder to feel his heart against him.

Timmy looks at him, takes him in. His dishevelled hair, his quick breaths, his red lips that beg to be kissed again. His eyes which spoke of nothing but love. Timmy’s hand wanders to his neck and he moves in pressing another gentle kiss to his lips, the corner of his mouth, down to his jawline before finding his way back up to his lips. _I worship you_.

There are too many things Armie wants to say, too many things he's thinking, but they're all muddled together inside his head. He kisses Timmy back and finds his hand, twisting their fingers together and holding it tightly, hoping he would understand that he wants more than this life is giving them together. He kisses him until breathing is hard again and he's not sure he's ever been so breathless with a kiss, but this is Timmy, and he takes his breath away by simply existing so he shouldn't be so surprised. "How long have we been gone?" he whispers, his lips skating across Timmy's neck.

Timmy can’t think, he can barely breathe as it is. He shrugs and tips his head back to give Armie easier access. “Not long enough.” He mumbles. He just wants to spend the rest of his life here, with their lips glued together and their bodies touching. “Don’t stop,” he pleads.

"God, Timmy," Armie sighs against him. He'd tried to be good, he'd tried to be respectful, to be aware of the hearts in his hands, the lives he was affecting with every passing moment. But he's quickly losing focus and can't seem to remember why it isn’t a great idea to follow his orders. Did he even close the door? Had he locked it? He presses his hips against Timmy and falls forward, his head resting against his shoulder, his hand tightening in Timmy's.

Timmy lets out a shaky breath knowing what opportunity he was presented with. It takes him a few moments to gather his courage before he slowly grinds his hips up against Armie’s. It’s a slow movement giving Armie the opportunity to stop him, to see whether he likes it or not. Timmy isn’t prepared for the way it makes a moan spill out of his own mouth, the friction welcome and needed. It’s not like this had never happened before either. They’d been wrestling, it had just happened, natural reaction. They’d never spoken about it again but this is very much intentional.

Panicked, Armie reaches out to cover his mouth, biting Timmy's shoulder to keep himself from making noise when he can't stop but lean into the friction. He tries to do a calculation in his head of the better choice, to walk back out to his family flushed now or ruined later. "We should stop," he breathes against Timmy's neck, though he can't seem to move his weight. He lets his hand slide down Timmy's chin and rest against his beating heart.

Timmy whines, pushes his hips against him again and tries to kiss him. When Armie turns his head away his heart shatters. Of course, he’s right. He’d asked for _one_ kiss, he’d gotten plenty. He should be happy. He doesn’t want to make it worse for him. He’d already done so much just because Timmy wanted it. “Thank you,” he mumbles although it sounds defeated.

"I'm sorry," Armie says, pressing his face against his neck. "It's just not smart," even to his own ears he sounds sad. He rolls off him and tries to take deep breaths, tries to remove the imprint of Timmy's body from his mind without losing it completely. He remembers doing press and being enamored with how eager Timmy was with everything, he was like this in Italy as well, he supposes, but in the light of day with others around to see it too, it felt different. He should have known he'd be eager with this, too. His head starts pounding with anxiety that he's just fucked up, but he tries and tries to push it away so he doesn't see. He could deal with that alone, later. Timmy needed him to be strong, now. He sighs and glances at Timmy before sitting up.

Timmy looks at him. Just looks at him. Takes him and tries to commit this picture to memory. He sees the strength he’s trying to muster up- to leave perhaps? To forget? Timmy doesn’t know but he wants him to remember that he’s there for him. That they both feel the same thing. So he reaches out and entwines their fingers again. “Are you staying?” he asks. F _or Breakfast? For lunch? For me? Forever?_

_Staying_. Armie bites back emotion and nods, keeping his eyes away from him, but holding his hand tighter. He runs his free hand over his face and clears his throat. _It's going to be fine_. He looks back at Timmy and sees his eyes examining him. He wants him to stop— he feels exposed — but holds his gaze anyways and smiles. "For a little while," he says, the words knotting up in his chest.

“Okay,” Timmy says quietly and tries to put himself back together. “We should go back.” He sits up and moves a hand through his hair and tries to smile like nothing life changing just happened. He scoots to the edge of the bed and when he passes Armie, he presses one last daring kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Now that they've parted, the gravity of the moment overcomes Armie, amplified only by Timmy's hesitant kiss. He turns into it too quickly, pulls away too harshly, his hands going to his knees. _Too much, not enough_. He tries to sober and struggles; he knows he's watching. How he is supposed to face his parents and sister is beyond him, let alone his own family. He can’t think about it, he'd go _insane_ if he thought about it. He takes a deep breath and stands, tries not to pace, his hands in his hair. _It'll be fine_. "Are you good? Need more time?" he asks, turning to look at Timmy.

There will never be enough time, not for them, so Timmy shakes his head and stands. “Come on. Pauline’s teasing will be bad enough,” he says and pulls Armie up. He knows he has to let go of his hand but he really, really doesn’t want to. He squeezes his hand one last time before letting go and opening the door.

_Come back, please come back_. The thought is rushed and panicked as the door opens, and Armie realizes he's not ready to do this, any of this. He'd never done this before, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to act. They would know, surely. Would they say something? Timmy's hair is a little mussed and his cheeks are still a light pink— Armie is about the same. Getting caught isn’t his fear, though. Regret is. He nods and follows Timmy out the door, trying to build his walls back up for them.

Timmy tries to appear _casual_ as he walks into the kitchen and sits down again, but knows at the same time that they know him far too well. The fact that nobody says anything is telling enough. He picks his toast back up and eats in silence, trying not to pay close attention to anyone.

Armie follows his lead and tries to eat, but he's not hungry anymore. He glances around and notes the averted eyes and careful conversation. _So that's how you shut their teasing down?_ He desperately tries to stop himself from blushing but he's not sure he succeeds, which only makes him more embarrassed to think he's acting like a child. He takes a long drink of water and tries to calm down and listen to what they're saying, but it's no use. His blood is rushing in his ears. God, he hadn't felt like this in years.

“Don’t you want to eat more, Armie? Chéri?” Nicole asks them. They both shake their heads and she sighs before starting a conversation about politics with her husband.

“Hey, bro, you wanna stay in and play video games?” Pauline asks hoping to get him distracted.

Timmy shrugs and puts his half eaten toast down feeling nauseous.

“You can stay, too, if you like, Armie but I guess you have some things to take care of,” she says to him now shooting him a pointed look. There’s no doubt she’d fight for her brother and likes Armie to know that, too.

Timmy doesn’t know if it’s the situation or worse— if he caught the bug from Armie. What if he had to cancel Texas because of a stomach bug. Everyone would know! He shoots him a quick look and Armie’s expression mirrors his own. Timmy leans back in his chair tries to massage his tummy without anyone noticing praying to whoever would listen that it would pass.

Armie drops his eyes to Timmy's hand and quickly looks away, feeling his heart skip. _Please don't be sick_. It took at least two days for him to start feeling the flu after the kids got it, so this was too soon, but it terrified him. He glances at Pauline and sees how worried she is, yet how she's trying not to let Timmy see that she's gone into protective mode. Armie understands and nods at her to acknowledge what she's said, afraid to speak of it, though. "More water?" Nicole asks. Armie meets her eyes as she fills his glass before looking between him and Timmy. _They know._ They probably believed it was innocent last night, but now? How could they now?

"Thank you," he says, trying to find a way to stop the awkwardness. He remembers Timmy telling him a story once of getting caught with a girl and how he'd been careful ever since to keep that away from his parents out of mortification. Nicole smiles at him and turns back to Marc, who thank god, doesn't meet Armie's eyes

The nausea twists Timmy’s stomach and he has to close his eyes to concentrate on not throwing up. He breaks out in a sweat as he tries to keep it in but has to realise he won’t be able to. His hand shoots up to cover his mouth as he makes a run for the bathroom. If he throws up now it can’t be the stomach bug, he realises. At least that is a relief, but then his mind wanders to Armie in her arms, all the times he stood at the side while they were the power couple. His stomach twists and he heaves again getting rid of what little he’d had today and yesterday. He’s glad when Armie doesn’t follow him this time, and instead it’s his mother who kneels next to him, holds his hair back, wipes his mouth with a towel and hands him a glass of water.

“It’s okay, chéri,” she mumbles as she holds him through the sobbing that shakes his body.

“You better fix this,” Pauline says sternly. She can see Armie feels guilty but that’s not enough. He needs to realise this was something he’d done. “It’s neither of your fault’s that you fell in love with each other or that you’re stuck in this situation but if you continue to give him hope like that only to leave him in the cold I will intervene and it won’t be pretty,” she threatens.

“Pauline,” Marc says trying to smooth the hard edges of her speech.

“No, père. He needs to understand.” Pauline insists.

“Armie is a grown man, a father and a husband. I think he knows very well. And so does Timmy.” He turns to Armie now though looks at him and sees him squirm under his gaze. He remembers how his son had told him that Armie hadn’t been this lucky with his parents. “Timmy feels a lot. Especially for you. We all know that you are in a difficult situation. The only thing we ask of you is to be gentle as you can be. We love him and we don’t want him to get hurt.” He explains.

Armie's been holding it together— albeit, barely— so far, but the moment is too much. He angrily clenches his jaw to stop from crying, his eyes darting to where Timmy and Nicole disappeared. "I don't want him to get hurt either," he says, hiding his eyes from them. "I know he doesn't deserve this, I don't want to be hurting him."

"We know," Marc says with a nod. Armie feels his eyes fill, looks away from the door that still separated him from Timmy, looks at his hands that were holding him not long ago. "He's stronger than you think," he tells Armie. "But he's slow to protect himself."

"I've noticed," Armie says, wiping his nose, pushing tears back. He couldn't do this— how could he do this to Timmy, how could he go home to his wife and children and face what he felt? How did people do this? _Cheat_? "I don't know how to stop him from hurting. I leave, he hurts. I stay, he hurts." Armie shakes his head, he's not sure why he's telling them. Something in him shatters, seeking some form of comfort or guidance from the family he was denied.

"Then you have to make sure you make the right choice," Marc says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world, though his eyes are full of sympathy when Armie meets them. _So goddamn lucky._

"What if I make a mistake— what if I make things worse?" he rambles, almost to himself, his hands covering his face before a shuddering breath leaves him. He wouldn't get this chance again, no one else could know. Luca, perhaps, was the only other person he'd be able to talk to. This was it.

"Worse? Then what you two have been doing for a year and a half?" Pauline chimes in. Armie looks to her and she shrugs. "Get some clarity. You two have been dancing around this for a long time, the mistake was not figuring it out sooner." Armie lets the tears fall, desperate suddenly for them to see that he was hurting, too. That he felt, too. She nods at him with a small smile and he wipes the moisture away, looking back at his hands as a sound comes from behind him.

Timmy still feels a little bit dizzy and his stomach feels a bit weird but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s going to throw up any moment again.

“How are you feeling?” His dad asks the moments he comes into view.

“He’s going to be fine.” His mother answers and squeezes his shoulder before getting another glass of water for him.

Timmy takes a seat again tries to be careful with his expression and not look like he’s had a major breakdown. So it takes him awhile to gather the courage to look at Armie again but when he does he can’t look away. His eyes are red-rimmed and he’s almost sure he’d been crying. Armie’s fingers are restless and he tries not to look at him either. The man with the masks sits broken down at their breakfast table. Timmy feels his heart rate pick up. This is what they can do to each other. Their love was destructive, there was no denying it. It makes him feels heady that he can bare Armie’s soul like that and yet it hurts because the pain must be intense if he cried in front of people that were practically strangers for him. Suddenly he’s not sure if the Cayman’s are a good idea. They’d rub each other raw until they’d be nothing but a bleeding mess of open wounds and salty tears. Suddenly he understands what Armie means when he says their love scared him, not only because of his wife. He can see the power their love has over them and he’s right. This **is** scary.

He feels his eyes, feels him watching, but he can't stop fidgeting let alone meet his eyes. He still felt too much and he was sure the emotions would overflow again if he looked before he composed himself. He reaches for his cold toast and munches on it to distract from what was eating away at him. He wanted this life with him, lazy mornings with his family being his as well, dressed in each others sweaters, nothing to worry about.   _Let go_ , he tells himself out of sheer necessity to breathe apart from the breathless daydream. He swallows hard and looks up at Marc and Nicole, who've begun chatting, no doubt to lessen the blow of tear stained cheeks and averted eyes. When he meets Timmy's gaze finally, he's almost surprised to see that no walls separate them at all. He was showing him all the emotion on his face, the distress, the anxiety, the genuine fear. _It's too late_. Damage had been done and they'd never be able to recover, Armie was sure of it. _He_ would never recover from what they shared, from their quiet confessions of love, their destiny perhaps. He drops his eyes and tries to steady his breathing for the hundredth time today and touches Timmy's shoulder softly before dropping his hand, afraid to hurt. _I'm sorry, I'm here, We'll figure this out_.

Timmy wants their friendship back and their levity but it wouldn't be this easy. Why had he ever thought this? They would need time and distance and not Texas where he's supposed to tell a room full of people and _his mother_ no less how much Armie means to him and not the Cayman's where they'd watch the sun set over the sea and responsibilities and reality would be thousands of miles away. How are they going to survive this? How does anyone go on when they held the bare, beating heart of someone? How do they go back to being casual, normal? How do you cope with the realisation that your life is never going to be like you want it to be because it's not possible? How do you heal?

Timmy wants to tell him to stay, wants to tell him to go. He does neither. He just stares at Armie's plate wishing it would stop hurting.

"I think I'm gonna go," Armie says suddenly, to overwhelmed to continue in silence. Nicole looks at him confused, but Marc seems to understand. Pauline tells him that's probably a good idea, but she sounds soft and comforting, not bitter like he expects. Standing is harder than he thought it would be, and when he turns to look at Timmy, his breath catches. _Walk with me,_ he wants to ask, but he's afraid Timmy won't feel he has a choice.

“I’ll show you out,” Timmy says and stands up. He can’t not say goodbye. He cannot just let him go so he follows him out even as he feels the eyes of his family on his back. They worried, of course they did. But he had to do this. He watches as Armie collects his suit. Timmy wordlessly offers him a bag so it would be easier to carry. Then they walk to the door wordlessly.

“Keep the pants.” Timmy offers. “But I’d like the sweater back.” He reaches out and touches the hem of it, the feel of the fabric familiar under his fingers. “Oh wait you should probably—” He turns around, walks back to his room, rummages through his back before coming back with a cap. “So that they won’t recognize you right away, _muvi star_.” He tells him and stretches on his tiptoes to settle it on his hair. “There you go.” He says sheepishly not sure what’s going to happen now.

And there it was, the familiar _too much, not enough_. Armie didn't want to leave; he wanted to stay in the safety of their hotel room. He had to go, though, and they both knew it. "Thank you," Armie says, it's the least he can say to try to encompass everything he felt. Somehow he feels it isn't okay to say more, perhaps for his sake, perhaps for Timmy's, he wasn't sure. He nods and feels incredibly young and lost as he glances down at where Timmy's fingers had touched his sweater and smiles as much as he can. With tentative hands, he reaches out to pull Timmy to him for a hug.

Timmy wraps his arms around his neck, breathes him in. He tries to commit it all to memory once again. He melts into his touch and tries not to cry. Not yet. He’s still here. They hold each other for a long time tight and without moving a muscle knowing that when they will let go it will change them. The moment comes when Timmy thinks he shouldn’t put it on Armie to pull back but when he withdraws one arm, the grip on his shirt tightens and he stops. “Armie...” He mumbles softly almost like a sigh. “It’s okay.” Of course, it’s not but if they don’t start convincing themselves now they’ll never will. Timmy’s hands go to his neck, pushes him away slightly, smiles at him. “I’ll see you on Thursday,” he promises.

Armie fights with himself to nod instead of pull him back; Timmy was clearly trying here, and it would be cruel to deny him the distance he appeared to need. Instead of giving in, Armie nods and brushes Timmy's hair back with his fingers, smiling fondly when he thinks of all of Timmy's belongings on his body, how his suit was tucked away in a bag that even belonged to Timmy. He was walking away, but Timmy was still all around him, holding him together. "Okay, I'll talk to you soon," he says, dropping his hand and looking away to leave. He wouldn't say “goodbye,” he couldn't bring himself to.

_I love you._ Timmy hopes it's what he'll carry with him from now on. Not as a burden but as a certainty. He's loved, always. Wherever he goes. The door opens and Armie steps out their eyes meet one last time as he draws the door shut and then there's nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were you right??? Did you think they would kiss?! I know some of you will be shocked with this development based on the comments last chapter. Let us know what you think! We thrive on your commentary, seriously. We love you guys. This fic means so much and when we hear from you it means that much more. Our live writing just passed 100k (which is INSANE) so this story is far from over. Stick with it, it's pretty special.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of Austin. Get ready kids. Things are about to get real.

Timmy can hear chatter from the kitchen, his family waiting for him to come back. But inside of him everything is fading into a numbness that scares him. He stares at the door, hopes for a miracle and when it doesn't appear, he walks back and puts a smile on his face. It's like Armie had left him one of his masks that he can now slide on and hide behind. No one comments on his eerily happy mood all of a sudden. They expect him to feel sad just like before but the truth is he'd be able to deal with that. But not with the sudden emptiness that fills his heart.

Armie fishes his phone out of his pocket and dials her number as he walks, sniffling and hoping he can hold his voice steady when she answers.    
"Hey, I'm about to head home. Thought I'd let you know." He can still feel Timmy holding him, hear him teasing and tackling him.  _ Good, the kids are feeling a lot better and they're handfuls today _ . There's laughter in her voice but it's also tense, and he's not sure if it's from him or the sound of Harper shouting in the background. He rests his head against the elevator and tries not to think about his parallel life with Timmy at the beach with his kids running around. "Need me to get anything?" he asks, barely holding it together. 

_ No _ .    
"Okay, I'll be back soon then. Bye—" 

_ See ya _ .

He has a cab pick him up from the side exit to limit his exposure to the public eye. He thinks of him constantly, an emptiness settling over him like a blanket of snow. She doesn't notice when he walks through the door, and he's half glad, half disappointed. She doesn't kiss him— she's too busy chasing Harper down— and he's thankful. If she were to kiss him, he knew he would only taste  _ him _ , a breathless sigh of memory of  _ him _ .

 

Timmy spends the next days pretending. Pretending nothing has happened, pretending he’s happy, pretending Texas isn’t looming. “Have you started writing that speech yet?” Pauline asks him every day and he denies it every time. It’s not before Wednesday evening that he sits down, realising that there’s no time left, that his flight was leaving way too early in the morning and he had to have something he can read because else he’d just spill every single thing he’d ever felt for him and there would be no one there to pick up  _ this  _ mess. He knows he has to allow himself to relive the feelings again. He can’t live on this numbness for this. 

So he sits down and types, erases, stares at the blank paper, rewrites, erases again. He rambles and rambles. He deletes the personal stuff and then puts it in again. It’s a mess and when he realises he has to leave for the airport  **now** he has a mess of letters but not a speech, much less a speech that would be deserving to honour him. He grabs his bags and leaves. He’s fucking tired. Physically. Emotionally. From feeling too much and nothing at all. He opens Instagram and after a moment decides to upload a story. A cute tired emoji, just a sign that he’s alive and on his way to Texas. He looks at it and thinks  _ fuck you shouldn’t be as lonely as I am  _ and adds another one. He posts it and climbs into a taxi. While LA flashes by outside he thinks of Armie and him sleeping side by side, entwined. Just them. Maybe the kids in the next room. In that world it’s easy. There’s only love and laughter and happiness.  _ I’m coming, Armie. And I’m going to protect you from her. I made a vow and I’ll keep it. _

 

The first time she notices something is off she pulls his focus with a  _ Hey _ , a hand on his leg. Armie smiles back and pretends he's fine, because he has no excuse not to be, not in her eyes.  _ Tired, that flu kicked my ass _ , he'd say, or  _ I'm nervous for Austin _ . He isn’t sure she reads into it, he hopes she won’t. The first night after, she loops her arms around his neck and he gets so nauseous he pushes her away, stumbling off to the bathroom, never more grateful to have a sick excuse in his life. She asks if he wants to go to the doctor, he doesn't have a fever anymore, maybe this is something the kids didn't get. He brushes her off when he doesn't  _ actually  _ throw up,  _ See? Just nausea, I'm fine, don't call a doctor _ .

The first time she kisses him he nearly cries because it's  _ wrong _ and it shouldn't be. He should want to kiss his wife, he shouldn't want him. They sleep on separate sides of the bed, but that isn't new. He gets up to check on Ford every night, holding him in his arms when he can't sleep, telling himself over and over again that he'd never let his children doubt their hearts if he could help it. 

He texts him when he gets to Austin, tells him he's excited for the speech. He doesn't reply and he can't blame him, it still felt a bit raw and too close to the surface. To be completely honest, he isn't sure he could see him again and not kiss him on the spot, tell him he'd leave it all for him. It worries him, how he seriously considers it as the sun rises every morning. When he sees his story, his heart breaks in two; he can't help but think it's for him, two emoji's when he knows he's alone. He must have been alone, he wouldn't have posted if he wasn't. 

The morning Timmy gets on a plane, Armie's a livewire. When Elizabeth kisses him this time, he kisses back, begging some feeling to return that isn't a helpless whisper of  _ Timmy, Timmy, Timmy _ . He wanders around aimlessly to sooth his mind, still uncertain of the future he wants, of what he is willing to give up. He supposes he'd have to decide— Marc is right, he needs to make the right choice sooner or later.

 

Timmy is nervous when he arrives, unpacks, folds the speech and puts it into his pocket without looking at it again. He knows they are supposed to meet up and go out with a couple of friends. Still he doesn’t know what to expect from seeing him again. He feels his heart beat in his throat thanks to his nervousness when he walks down the hall to knock at their door. He stands there, hand already formed into a fist but then thinks better of it. They can’t do this in front of her immediately. They just can’t. So he wanders back to his room and gets his phone out again.   
_I’m here. 482._   
Armie would know. He would be able to decide if he brought her. He knows it’s not good to let be alone again but he doesn’t want the alternative. They need to learn to look at each other first without it all being written in their faces. He twists his hands and paces his room. Messes his hair up, touches his neck, checks his outfit in the mirror waiting for the knock.

Elizabeth is still getting ready when he gets the text. Armie stares at it for a few minutes before glancing at her, watching her dust makeup onto her cheeks. He looks back down and knows he should go, she'd know in an instant that his mood all week was caused by Timmy if she sees the same look in his eyes. "Hey, Timmy just got here," he says, his heart starting to beat faster at his name.  _ Is he on his way up? _  She sounds indifferent and a part of him wonders if she already suspects. "I'm gonna meet him, if that's okay. Since you're still getting ready, I'm kind of bored," he says, trying to sound nonchalant. She throws him a look over her shoulder but doesn't stop him from leaving, much to his relief. The walk to his room is long and he ends up pacing in front of the door, unable to knock.  _ I need a plan _ , he keeps thinking, but he's not sure if a plan would help. He just needs to make things better enough that they would stand near each other without the world caving in. Finally, he lifts his hand and knocks, taking a quick step back and stuffing his hands in his pockets. It's just Timmy, this would be fine.

Timmy darts to the door in an instant. His mind a litany of  _ Armie, Armie, Armie _ . He opens the door and he’s just there. Hands in his pockets, dressed in casual clothes. It’s enough to knock the air from his lungs. “Hey,” he manages eventually and it sounds breathless.

Armie can't help but smile at him, the weight of the past few days falling at the ground with his voice. "Hi," he breathes back. After all they'd been through, some things would never change. The way Timmy looks when they'd been apart for any stretch of time is one of those things, as Armie is sure they way he looked was the same. Almost in awe, a little struck, too emotional for casual acquaintances, a bit cautious. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out the air he didn't realize he'd been holding. "You're here," he says, and though he means the words to be a light acknowledgment, they almost sound like a question. "You look nice," he says, taking him in the best he could without letting his eyes wander or linger anywhere.

“Thank you.” Timmy is sure his eyes are alive right now in a way they hadn’t been the past days. “You look stunning.” He says before he can stop himself and quickly reaches up to scratch his neck in embarrassment. “Do you- Uhm- do you want to come in?” He asks knowing that it might be a bad idea. He hadn’t slept last night and he was wound up from finally seeing Armie again. He doesn’t want to do things they might regret later.

Armie smiles at the ground with his complement, at his stuttering. It’s familiar and warm and he had been afraid they wouldn't have this anymore. He’s still afraid Timmy would hate him, that he hadn't talked to him since LA on purpose, because he doesn't want to get hurt, because he’s upset that Armie walked away. He looks up and sees the question in his eyes, the hesitation. Isn't this why he’s here, to see Timmy? To talk? To find some way to look at him and be able to stand in a room as Elizabeth at the same time, like they would have to do all day? He nods and says, "Yeah, I'd like that. We have a little time."

Timmy feels his heart beat pick up his palms becoming sweaty even though he tries to remind himself that they are trying to look like this all isn’t happening between them. Armie walks in and Timmy closes the door behind him not quite turning around yet. He isn’t sure what it will make him do if he sees him here with this look in his eyes.

Armie walks around, noting the bed and trying to find  _ anywhere  _ else to sit, settling on standing. It’s better for his nerves anyway. "So look, I know we need to talk about it and I want to but I don't know if we can really do that and be okay today, so... if you think it'll help then we can talk about it but I don't want to make it harder for us to be around her today than it's already going to be," he says. He'd been trying to figure out what to say to him for days.

Timmy listens and tries to make sense of all the things Armie is saying. He turns around now to face him. His heart jumps in his chest but he remains in his position. “Yeah, okay, okay. I think I’m good. I just- I didn’t want to look you in the face for the first time again while she’s looking at mine. I think she could’ve read it all. We just- we do it like we did before.” Nothing had changed for Timmy since the day Armie left. There’s nothing he can do that would change their situation. “How- how are you?” He asks half because the last time they saw each other Armie had still been ill, half because the last time they saw each other they had bared their souls.

Armie laughs a little and looks down. "I'm probably about as good as you," he says, taking a guess. "It's been... I don't know. I'm okay. It's not too bad, I guess." He looks back at Timmy and shrugs. He's not sure what to say. "She knows something's off but I think she thought it was just me being sick." Another shrug. Another look around the room. "How are you?" He's not sure why he asks, but he wants to hear his voice.

Timmy shrugs, suddenly realising that’s what they are both doing a lot. “Uh. The past days...” He sobers suddenly. “It’s been numb.” He admits, blinks and looks away. “Anyway.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"Right," Armie nods. He looks at him, wondering how fragile this is with them. "I'm glad you're here," he says in earnest, pushing it a little. "Anyway, we're going to go out and explore a little, show you Austin. I think a friend or two might join at some point, should be a pretty good day."

Timmy nods, runs a hand through his hair. “Alright. I’m- I’m ready?” He gestures to the door although he’d probably never be ready. But they’ve been good so far. They just need to keep this up.

Armie nods and lets out a deep sigh with a smile. "Okay," he says, walking back towards Timmy. He has to hold his breath when he passes, the air electric, his body too close for Armie to think of anything but holding him. He refrains and places his hand on the door, opening it, stepping through. "It's upstairs, my room." He motions for Timmy to follow.

Timmy nods. “Okay. Lead the way.” He tries to smile and hopes it looks sincere. They take the stairs then and Armie leads him to the door of a suite and knocks. He hadn’t taken a key apparently. Timmy fidgets and touches the hem of his shirt suddenly wonders whether Armie has worn the sweater and is ready to give it back. He can’t ask him now obviously since the door would open any moment now. 

“Hey, you two. Timmy, good to see you.” She smiles at him Timmy feels bile rise in his mouth. How had he done this before? 

“Hey.” He says quietly and follows Armie inside staying in his shadow. 

“I’ll be ready in a second.” She promises and runs into the bathroom again, comes back out, collects some items. Timmy shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at their bed. Sheets ruffled. Of course. He wonders how he ever managed to climb into it with them. It had been different when he hadn’t known Armie is- he looks over at him and can’t bring himself to think it.

 

Armie feels a headache coming on but tries to remain calm for everyone's sake. He glances around the room, wondering what Timmy is seeing, how he views his moments with Elizabeth now that he knows how he feels. Armie looks at him and feels a part of his soul is living within his body, a part he would give freely again and again if it would make any of this better. Elizabeth returns and beams at them, all show.  _ It's begun _ , Armie thinks with a masked smile. "So! We ready to go see Austin?" she asks, mostly Timmy. He doesn't really want her to talk to him, He doesn't want her to look at him. 

He tells her yes, something nonchalant, glances back at Timmy, relieved that he seems to be okay. At least on the outside, he seems okay. 

"You want a sweater?" she asks, reaching for Armie's bag to rifle through.  _ The sweater _ .

"No! I, uh," he panics. "I'll be fine, thanks, though." He looks around and smiles, starts walking, trying to break free from the room that held too much. "Let's go."

 

Timmy’s breath hitches as he sees Armie’s panicked reaction. He can’t catch his gaze on their way out so he waits until Elizabeth is leading them through the city pointing out restaurants and bakeries. They walk behind her and Timmy finally manages to get his attention. ‘ _ Sweater? _ ’ He mouths and gestures down at himself. Had he been wearing it? He shoots a glance forward, makes sure Elizabeth is still distracted.

 

Armie stuffs his hands into his pockets and watches his wife's back. He nods, glancing back at Timmy with a shrug.  _ It smelled like you _ , he almost says, but that would be too much. He'd worn it in the mornings and evenings. He almost wore it to bed but didn't want to risk it smelling like her at all. Elizabeth tells them about somewhere she  _ has  _ to go to and Armie tells her fine, we need to meet up with people anyway, it’s a good place to tell them. He fishes out his phone and sends their friends a quick text, hesitating, looking up at her.  _ I'll give it back later _ . he types out, hits send, doesn't dare look at Timmy to see his reaction.

Timmy stares at him, then blushes and looks down.  _ He really loves me,  _ he thinks and bounces on his heels. Elizabeth looks at her own phone before stepping up to Armie and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll meet you all in the park.” She promises and walks off into the other direction.

Armie feels his face burn and he hopes Timmy doesn't take it personally, her lips against his skin. He looks down and sighs, finally allowing himself to turn to Timmy. Who. Is. Beaming. Armie smiles a little, trying not to let it overwhelm him, and bumps his shoulder. "You're happy," he says, caught between a question and an observation.

Timmy can’t stop a slight giggle. “You wore the sweater.” His grin is huge and he nudges his shoulder against Armie’s. “You wore the sweater,” he repeats. He had missed Timmy and had worn it just like Timmy had before. “I can’t believe it,” he admits and lets out a string of breathless laughter.

Armie had hesitated before, but now, he's bold. "It smelled like you," he shrugs, feeding off Timmy's energy, his shuffling feet. He smiles at him, fond, and laughs. "God, you're cute," he mumbles, watching the hair fall all over his face, his lip getting caught between his teeth, his breathless excitement.

The blush on Timmy’s cheeks intensifies. How could Armie just say these things? “Of course it did. I’ve been wearing it a lot.” He says and looks up at Armie again. His expression is so overwhelmingly fond that he has to twirl.

"I'm aware," Armie replies, smiling brighter, his chest seizing up at Timmy's charm. It was his weakness, this twirl, he’s sure Timmy knew it, too. "Your family told me, remember?" He smiles at the memory now, though it was a source of anxiety for him earlier. He starts to understand a new element of Elio and Oliver, the hidden back roads and whispers in alleys. He would kiss him if he could, he thinks. Maybe. Just once. "Anyway it smells like me now, you're welcome," he says, watching him.

Timmy looks up at him from under his lashes and curls that had fallen into his face. "Does that mean I'm getting it back?" He asks sheepishly and leans forward on his heels, looks around takes a step closer. "Are you gonna give it back so I can curl up with it again?"  He says almost teasingly. For a moment, he could forget everything around them. They were just on a trip together, as two people in love.

Armie rolls his eyes. He can't even begin to express how relieved he is that they've cycled back to their teasing games, to lightness. He hadn’t been sure they'd ever get back here. He tucks his neck under his arm in a mock wrestling move and toys with his hair. "Maybe not, maybe I'll just keep it. It's pretty nice, you know," he says, gently pushing him back and smiling at him.

Timmy grins back, reaches out, pulls Armie along in his momentum. "Mmh, that's rude. I'm just gonna have to steal it again then." He feels his back hit the wall but doesn't stop pulling him in. "Like the first time. How long did it take you to notice it was gone, huh? A week? Two?" He plays with the hem of the shirt Armie is currently wearing but doesn't break their eye contact.

Armie feels the air rush out of him and he can't help but laugh a little at the absurdity of it all. An hour ago he was pacing his room, terrified; now he’s happier than he'd been in days. At least for a little while, they could have this without interruption. "I'm on alert now, see I don't think you could take it again," he says with a smirk. He places a hand on the wall to keep them apart, to keep staring. He glances around.

Timmy trusts Armie to keep his eyes open, to look out for anyone recognising them. "Then I just have to be more clever. Orrr-" He draws the word out as if he's contemplating what to say next. "Do you want me to beg for it?" he asks. "Please, Armie. Pretty please." He pushes his bottom lips out and gives his best expression of a pout.

Armie's eyes dart back to his and he shakes his head, hiding a smirk. He's reminded of Italy, of days when Timmy felt reckless, the days when Armie had been  _ sure  _ he knew the attraction was mutual, when he'd toy with Armie like this. Like he was innocent, like he didn't know. "No you're right, that would absolutely work," he laughs, reaching over to tuck his hair back before dropping his hand to his pocket.

"Good." Timmy smirks satisfied. He just stares up at him then, lets himself enjoy the moment. He suddenly remembers when they were in a similar position. Bergamo. It seems like a lifetime ago now. He remembers the kiss they had to film there, that was supposed to be so much. In fact, Timmy had known at the time it was the last time this was going to happen. He wanted to get it right but Elio just kept slipping and slipping from him and he just wanted to continue kissing Armie. He had known that she was there but it was ending and  _ why did Armie stop him? _ He had been so frustrated he'd punched the wall. Now, they couldn't kiss. After all, they were still in public. The thought is sobering.

Armie senses the moment his mood shifts and wonders why, what could be pulling his focus, taking the light from his eyes and replacing it with melancholy. He leans against the wall next to him looking up to see if anyone was nearby. There were a few dog walkers, a jogger. No one seemed to notice. He reaches out and touches Timmy's hand with his, much like Timmy had done in the bathroom that night, hoping it would comfort him. "Do you want to stay here or go to the park?" he asks quietly.

Timmy shoots him a look and has to smile at the contact. They can't hold hands, not here but he feels daring enough to hook their pinkies together. He doesn't know the park in Austin but maybe it has some quiet spot where they could let the levity return until Armie’s friend showed up. "Let's go to the park,” he suggests. "You'll have to lead the way though."

Armie sighs, content with the calm that settles over them. "Okay," he says, nodding with a smile. Briefly, he watches the people passing by and turns towards Timmy just a little to block the view, letting his fingers fall into place between his, squeezing once to say  _ I'm here, I still love you, I still want this, too _ . Then he releases him and walks away, not bothering to wait for him to follow, knowing he would.

Timmy does, pushing away from the wall and catching up with bouncing steps. "So, when is that friend arriving?" he asks falling into step beside Armie. His hands are itching to reach out so he shoves them into his pockets. They make their way to the park with easy chatter. Armie tells him the latest funny story about Harper and Ford and before they know it the green stretches out before them. "Do you just want to walk around?" Timmy asks trying not to get excited because no one in Austin seemed to appreciate the park today.

Armie can't stop smiling at his exuberance. It's mesmerizing to watch him like this, so consumed by happiness. It makes Armie ache a little to think he ever caused anything but this,  _ happiness _ . "Uh, soon, I think. He's getting cigars. We can walk, that sounds nice," he says, picturing them strolling along the paths he'd taken his kids on in strollers when they were with them in Texas. "Or sit, either is fine. We'll sit when he gets here though."

"Then- let's just walk." Timmy gestures and start strolling. They reach the Rose Garden and it's empty. No people and no roses but Timmy doesn't care. He trails away from the center which is an open space and leads Armie to where the trees obscure the view and small paths lead away from it towards the Lake. "Let's go take this one,” he suggests and when they walk around the corner and Timmy checks one more time that no one had followed them before he takes Armie's hand.

_ Sneaky _ . Armie glances at him and smiles, the same rush he felt the other night when Timmy held his hand as they walked into his hotel. This time it isn't hesitant and stolen, it is sure and steady, hidden smiles only to conceal how much happiness it brings. Armie feels his phone vibrate signalling a text, but he can't seem to bring himself to read it just yet. "So are you always like this with people you date? All doe eyes and romantic strolls, I'm just curious," Armie teases, squeezing his hand.

"Wouldn't you like to find out?" Timmy asks teasingly but realises, of course he can't. "I can't say I've ever dated someone like that."  _ That I'm in love with from the start _ . "But I like to think that. And flowers and gifts and date nights. Stolen kisses." He looks up at Armie, knows they  _ can't  _ even if they're absolutely certain they are alone. This could ruin too much. But he wants him to know, at least, that he wants this right now.

Armie starts seeing it, their lives together. He smiles at the ground and knows logically they can't cross the line, at least not until they've talked about this, but he sees kisses behind curtains and in hallways, trying to outrun paparazzi. "I can see that," he says. "You're too charming not to be that way, I suppose." He sighs and looks out in front of them, thinks about taking a picture for just them, knowing he couldn't.

"Stop flattering me." Timmy chuckles and kicks Armie's leg with his foot. He knows he's in for another wrestling session and ducks Armie's attack. "Predictable." He teases and laughs until Armie uses his hand that he was still holding to pull him closer. He giggles as Armie catches him in headlock again and pokes his side. It's beautiful and carefree.

He misses this, Armie realizes, their banter and playful flirting. It was always harmless before, at least that's what he had told himself. Now it’s intentional and intoxicating to hear him laugh, see the way his eyes spark. Armie releases his hold with a gasp, moving to wrap his arms around Timmy's waist, stumbling a little as he catches his balance when Timmy's arms sling around his neck. He laughs against him and then pulls back quickly letting him be off kilter for a moment. "I am not predictable, how dare you," he says, feigning hurt, smirking at him

Timmy grins. "Just enough for me to think I know you." He says and feels the overwhelming want, _ need _ to kiss him but restraints himself. "But I'm sure you can still surprise me." Timmy shakes his head so the curls fall back and don't obscure his view. It's an invitation perhaps. He's sure Armie never had someone tell him to do something crazy. Timmy had witnessed Elizabeth herself roll his eyes at him for stuff like that.

Armie shakes his head and grabs Timmy's hand again, missing the contact. "I'm plenty reckless, you know. Everyone says so," his voice grows restrained as he speaks, realizing just how reckless Timmy already knows he is, how he knows this better than anyone. "Anyways," he looks around, tries to change the subject, falters. He glances down at their hands and lifts Timmy's knuckles to his lips in an effort to ground himself in what they have, not what it looks like.

Timmy blushes. "I'm not everyone though,” he points out. Timmy loves Armie for his recklessness not despite of it. He loves him because of how he had managed to survive his childhood and learned to put on masks not despite of it. He pulls his hand from Armie's grip and wraps both of his arms around his neck now. "I love you," he says softly, quietly, only for him.

Armie feels intoxicated suddenly, Timmy's voice and touch almost heady, his breath too hot, his words too warm and bright. He closes his eyes against Timmy's hair, his emotion threatening to take over. He wants to say it back but knows there's a hundred reasons not to. Ultimately, though, the only reason really stopping him is fear, so he holds him tighter and whispers, "I love you, too." Regardless of what happens, he wants this moment of shared vulnerability more than he can express. He refuses to let it pass without Timmy knowing he still feels it.

Timmy hides his happy grin in Armie’s shirt. How did he get so lucky to be loved back by such a wonderful man? He doesn’t want to let him go so he just holds on. “You’re wonderful.” He mumbles wanting him to know. Sure, their situation isn’t ideal and there are many things that stop them from being happy. But they can steal these little moments.

Armie chuckles and lets his arms slacken into a loose loop around Timmy's waist. He doesn't know what to do about so many things, but here with Timmy, the fresh air and his embrace make it easier to believe that maybe, just maybe, it would all work out. "You flatter me too much, I don't know what you see but I'm glad you do," he says against him like a secret. Maybe it is.

Timmy hates Armie's insecurities and the realisation that he would meet a great cause of it soon had him bristling with anger. "You are the one who's here with me despite me just being this weird kid who got clingy," he reminds him. Armie had a family, he had the looks, the standing in Hollywood. There is no reason why he should want Timmy. And yet here is, telling him how he loves him and he thinks he doesn't deserve Timmy's love. It's ridiculous. "You don't get recognised for how amazing you are. Especially to me. Which is why I probably will do my best to remind everyone until the day I die."

There is little Armie could do anymore to stop himself from being overwhelmed by Timmy's reassurance. Since the Oscars, he’d craved it more than he thought he ever would, and let it breathe life back into him. He nods against him, pressing his face against Timmy's neck, an arm coming up to wrap around Timmy's shoulders to hold him. He stands there for a moment processing the forever insinuated in his words, the growing old. He pulls away with a small sound and straightens his t-shirt, reaching out to ruffle Timmy's hair gently. "Thanks," he says, unable to verbally express how much Timmy's kindness meant on days like today.

"You know I mean every word." Timmy smiles at him, glad Armie understands and trusts him. "I'm your protector now, remember? Only worthy people allowed." He grins and they continue walking, listening to the birds and each other's breathing. Eventually they reach the spot in which they are supposed to meet that friend. He seems friendly enough and Timmy's heart is alive when Armie just introduces him as Timmy. Not friend, not colleague, not bro. Just Timmy. The man nods and then continues to show off the cigars he's scored on his way. Timmy only understands half of what they are saying but he doesn't mind. Armie is happy and bright and his arm would brush Timmy's occasionally. They find a patch of grass to lie down at and Timmy sprawls a bit below Armie so he can look up at him and marvel at his handsome face in the bright spring sun of Austin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Austin is a key element in this fic, it's where a lot of shit gets real. So basically prepare yourself because this is the calm before the storm. As always, thank you so much for reading. It means the world to us <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it needs to be said- this is *fiction* even though we use real events to frame the story. Our depictions of these people are choices we make as writers, and are entirely subjective to how we want to portray them and how we perceive them in reality. I just think I need to say that, because this chapter introduces Armie's mom who will be in a few chapters during this Austin trip.

Every time he introduces Timmy to one of his friends, Armie feels puzzle pieces falling into place. Integrating him into Armie's life has always felt natural, so of course he'd continue to fall for him after all this time. As his friend speaks, Armie finds his eyes wandering back to Timmy, stealing glances at him when he can behind his shades, smiling every time he realizes his eyes are already on him. He worries his friend might notice, might see the way Timmy looks at him, but he doesn’t really care at this point. He almost wants him to know, let _someone_ know. He laughs at something his friend has said, letting out a thick puff of smoke before staring down at Timmy. He offers the cigar, watches as Timmy takes a tentative puff, a smirk almost on his lips. Armie runs a hand through his hair, trying to tear his eyes from his lips but failing, taking it back when he's offered. He wonders if life would be like this with Timmy, casual trips to the park and chatting with friends, Timmy watching him with eyes that made everything feel _right_.

Timmy feels entirely at home in this moment. He wonders whether Armie's friend has noticed and if he did whether he cares. Neither of them are doing a good job at the moment with lingering looks and fleeting touches. Timmy gets his phone out to snap a picture of the moment and save it for later when things wouldn't be this happy and light. He ends up taking a ton of pictures while pretending to be checking his messages. He feels daring enough to post one on Instagram with a silly joke. Then he puts his phone away and wonders whether he would taste the smoke on his lips if he kissed him now. He steals the cigar again and tries to taste his lips on the smoke instead.

Someone somewhere had made Timmy unabashed in his affection in moments like this, and Armie is grateful to them in more ways than one. He stretches out his legs and nudges Timmy with his foot, smirking slightly as Timmy takes a drag and gives it back, letting their hands touch. The entire afternoon seems cloaked in ephemeral possibilities and something deeper, some form of longing that never quite left when they were together. There's a slight chill in the air but he's warm under Timmy's eyes. "Where's your wife, man?" Armie looks down, takes a moment before turning to his friend and shrugging. His friend says something about getting free stuff at the bakery, he jokes back, trying not to throw him off, but he can't meet Timmy's eyes anymore, thankful for the sunglasses and cigar to distract and hide. He doesn't want reality to settle back in just yet.

Timmy can see the mask slipping back on his face and hurts for him. He doesn't know how he'll be able to face Dru yet. Eventually Armie gets a message where they are supposed to meet for lunch and they have to leave their flirting selves at the park. The food is great but Timmy takes even more pleasure in watching Armie eat. It was almost sexual to watch him eat his steak and Timmy has to sip his coke to hide his grin.

One time in Italy, Timmy drank too much and told Armie as much, and ever since, he thinks of his words when they eat together. He lets his leg wander out to Timmy's under the table, glancing up to him when they connect. He responds to something that's said without so much as glancing at Timmy, his leg moving slightly against his. He feels like his two worlds were colliding, a feeling he'd had many times with Timmy and his wife present, but this time doesn't try to push them together. No, this time he realizes they can't coexist like this, that sooner or later something would have to change. He still hasn't talked to either of them about what happened the night of the Oscars, but he could still steal these moments like a bandit hoping not to get caught.

Timmy chokes on his coke for a moment, tries to meet Armie's eyes but he's pretending to be entirely focused on a conversation. But Timmy can feel he's not in the way the pressure heightens and the legs move just slightly. _Please, don't let me get a nosebleed_ . He begs and presses back, heart beating in his throat. He looks over at Elizabeth but she's texting something or checking Instagram perhaps, definitely distracted though. Timmy looks back at Armie, sees him cut a piece of his steak of and shove it into his mouth. Their eyes meet as Armie starts chewing and Timmy can feel something drip on his lip and sees Armie's eyes widen. _Oh shit_. He reaches for the napkin and quickly tilts his heads back.

Elizabeth looks up from her phone as there is a sudden movement at the table and sees Timmy's bleeding nose. "What? Did you play footsie under the table?" She jokes and laughs. She has no idea and Timmy hopes she doesn't notice how nervous his laugh sounds.

If Armie weren't so concerned he might laugh with him at how ridiculous this was. Did Luca even know how well he was cast? "Hey, you okay?" he asks seriously, looking only at him. He tries not to think about what Elizabeth said as he withdraws his leg, giving him some space. "Do you want water or something?" He can feel her eyes on him but he can't meet her gaze, too focused on the napkin pressed against his face. _Shit_.

"No, it's fine. It'll stop soon, I'm sure. Just give me a minute." Timmy uses the excuse to lean back and watch Armie who at least seems sheepish.

"You get this often?" Armie's friend asks. "Nosebleeds can be harmless but if they happen without any visible cause there might be more to it. Can signal some pretty bad illnesses of your brain, man.”

Timmy appreciates the concern but he can't use more questions now. He shoots Armie a pointed look across the table. "It's fine. Thank you." He pulls the napkin back to check if it's still bleeding. The blood immediately rushes out of his nose again and he presses the napkin back quickly.

"God, Timmy," Armie says, standing quickly, asking for more napkins, _please_ . He looks back and runs a hand through his hair. _Do not, look like Oliver_ , he tells himself. He can't help it though, it's a lot of blood and his friend's questions aren't helping anything. He glances at Elizabeth for the first time and sees that she's not terribly concerned--a mom thing? Does she just know it'll be fine?-- but she softens when she sees him worry.

"Maybe some cold water on it will help," she offers. Armie nods and accepts new napkins from the waitress, going to Timmy and passing them off, taking his bloody ones and shakily putting them on the table.

Timmy feels little giddy at Armie's open concern, the hand at his neck and the other pressing the fresh napkin to his nose. "I got it." He says softly and takes the napkins from his hands although it's the last thing he wants to do. But it will look weird and people are going to ask even more questions. "Thank you." He says anyway wants him to know he appreciates the concern. Armie stays sitting at his side as they wait for the cold water. Timmy wonders if in that other world he would've kissed it better, too.

"Maybe you should give him a foot rub." Their friend teases again and Timmy tries not to blush at the memory of Armie suddenly pushing his foot under his thigh or pressing that kiss to it. Armie's hand at his neck has stayed at least and was now rubbing soothing circles and making  up for it.

 _Don't tempt me_. Armie tries to put his mask back up, knowing that while they don't notice now, they might notice soon if he isn't careful. His fingers brush beneath Timmy's shirt's neckline then back to his hair, back to his neck; she could see and he couldn't stop himself. It shouldn't have to be like this. Elizabeth reaches over and touches Timmy's arm and Armie starts to feel nauseous, her hand retracting quickly thank fuck. She strikes up a conversation with their friend, perhaps noticing the odd discomfort at this end of the table. "Sorry," Armie whispers quietly. He knows it's not really his fault, but it also kind of absolutely is and he wonders if he should stop touching him, just let him walk away before this got worse. He thought he could handle this, but maybe he couldn't, and maybe Timmy couldn't either.

So far Austin has been better than Timmy had expected but he's almost certain that this was just the calm before the storm. There are events looming in front of them that will change them, he's almost certain. But for now, he still wants to hold onto this, doesn't want to make it more complicated before it has to be. "Stop apologising so much." He retorts and tries to be unsuspicious about leaning into his touch. But then the waitress comes with his water and Armie draws his hand back. Timmy somehow coordinates drinking and pressing a napkin to his nose and then leans back waiting for the bleeding to stop. When he checks again it has stopped and he wipes the last traces away before looking at Armie again who's a ball of tightly wound concern next to him. "Good?" He asks and gestures to his nose.

Armie lets himself look, takes the opportunity because he knows he won't get another, notes the freckles, the wind and hand mussed hair. He places his hand on Timmy's chin and turns his head with a small sigh. "Good," he says, touching his shoulder gently before resting the hand on the table. _Good_. He doesn’t feel good, he feels a bit anxious, actually. He stands and sits back in his seat across from him, knowing he’s crowding him, that it’s suspicious, that Timmy needs space. He lets out a breath and clears his throat, takes a drink of water, looks around the table and tries to listen to the conversation. His eyes find Timmy's again though, and he can't look away.

Timmy bites his lips as he finds Armie's eyes on his again. They are not good at playing subtle. Not at all. But it still makes him feel heady, to know Armie has it just as bad. Timmy stretches his leg out, lets it brush against his and sees him flinch. _It's okay._ He tries to tell him. This time their legs just rest together because apparently they can't not touch. Lunch passes without any further disasters then but that only means evening is coming closer and Timmy doesn't like the prospect of that one bit.

Later, when his mother calls, excited, vibrant, Armie turns away from Timmy and touches Elizabeth's arm. She usually handles this sort of thing if he isn’t feeling up to it, and he really isn’t feeling up to it. "Mom, I'm gonna pass you off real quick, I've got to do some prep for tonight," he says, looking at her like he doesn’t know what else to say. She takes the phone from him with a look and Armie feels guilt wash over him for what he’s doing, not just to Elizabeth, but to Timmy with this gesture. His marriage hasn't been working very well since the promo tour started, their interactions ranging from bickering to dead silence to head over heels to _I never want to see you again_. But one constant remained--Elizabeth could handle his family. "Dru! It's so good to hear your voice, oh my god. We're so excited to see you!" Armie fades out and looks at Timmy, noticing how he’s watching the exchange with quiet eyes.

 _Protector_ , Timmy thinks as he looks at Armie's face. Armie's just as scared about them meeting as Timmy is, perhaps even more. "Tell me about that wrestling fight, you texted me about. You never got to elaborate." He knows wrestling is one of the things that always gets Armie talking. He listens closely to Armie explaining, smiles at how vivid his explanations are even if it had been weeks since that fight. He hopes it's enough to drown out Elizabeth and the knowledge of t Dru being in the city and just waiting to judge him quietly with her eyes and words that sting.

Armie knows what he's doing but let's him anyways; he needs it. He lets himself get lost in Timmy's eyes and his smiles and laughter. He allows himself to touch his wrist briefly when his words taper out. _Thank you_ , he wants to say. _Thank you for not running_ . Elizabeth returns to them and his hand drops, stuffed into his pocket with his heart beating hard in his chest. "She really wants to talk to you," she says, blocking the phone. "I'm trying here, but Armie--" He nods slowly and takes the phone with a sigh, walking away from them. She wants to know what he's wearing, should she coordinate? How was the flight, as if she didn't ask Elizabeth, was he tired? It wasn't good to go to an even when you're tired. When was the panel, could she come to that, did she _have_ to come to that? He fields her questions and looks back at Timmy and Elizabeth, feeling his stomach turn. Their time is running out. He finally gets her to stop asking questions with an excuse about getting ready for the panel, and stands still holding his phone for a minute. She is going to see, he realizes. She would see the way he looks at Timmy and she'd know. He looks up and tries to smile, walking back over to them.

Timmy looks at him as he walks back, sees the smile at his mouth but not in his eyes and feels his heart break a little more. He wants to step forward, reach his hand out, take Armie's and hold it but he can't. Instead he looks over to Elizabeth who's laughing at something their friend said. Timmy turns back to Armie and feels his eyebrows draw up in concern again. Would it be too weird to hug him? He wants to and tries to find justifications in his mind. They were good friends and the guy hadn't given the impression that he's overly conservative. _Fuck it_. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Armie's neck. "It's okay." He promises him. He can hear the conversation stutter to halt behind him and wants to draw back, afraid he's crossed a line.

Armie nods and tries to believe him, to hold onto the hope he's trying to give him right now. His arms wrap around him in a sigh, his chin resting on his shoulder. He looks at Elizabeth who's stopped talking and looks concerned, irritated perhaps, eyeing the two of them. To turn her away, he smiles and tries to keep his hands from wandering. "What's wrong? What did I miss?" she asks, hand on their friend's shoulder to keep him from talking, her eyes on Timmy's head.

"Nothing," Armie says, pulling away from Timmy. "She's trying to go to the panel, she doesn't even like panels, I told her it's ticketed. Do you think she'll check? I don't even know if it is," he says, running a hand through his hair as he pulls the conversation to keep her from asking questions he doesn’t have the answers to, at least not answers he could say out loud. She still looks off but takes the bait and allows him to change topics. She's being supportive, appreciate it, she tells him. How many times have you said you wished she would support you? Armie shrugs it off and keeps his eyes away from Timmy's now that she's watching for them. They make their way back to the hotel, time running out before the panel and awards.

They separate with a simple _Later!_ since Elizabeth is eyeing them closely. But Timmy had seen him hurting, he had had to do something. He stayed holed up in his room while Armie attends the panel and goes over the speech again. He doesn't think it does Armie justice but as long as he just reads what he wrote, they might get away with it alright. He throws a look at his phone and sees an encouraging text from Pauline. It's time to get ready. He decides on something more on the casual side. A plaid shirt and black pants. Then... He looks at the watch, remembers finding it in his mailbox. _Happy Birthday, T_. He hadn't needed an explanation to know who it was from. It's too big for his wrist so he hadn't worn it before but today is just perfect for it. He puts it on and tightens it as far as possible, then grabs his speech from the table and sends Armie a message that he's ready and going to wait in the lobby for them.

Armie tries to enjoy the panel but finds it hard to focus, hard to be genuine. He pours himself into the questions about him, but it still feels like he's underwater. It isn't until he's leaving that he feels he can breathe. He likes the other panel members and makes plans to hang out with some of them, but it still feels like he’s playing pretend in his own life, a feeling he hadn't really had in awhile. It’s disorienting to be thrown back into this world without Timmy. It would be better later, he thinks. Better and worse, for better or worse. He almost texts him when he's on his way back, erasing and rewriting the message three times before telling himself to just wait.

Timmy bounces his leg as he waits for Armie and Elizabeth to come down. When they do he's surprised that they match so little. He wonders why. They take the same car to the red carpet which Armie moves on first. It's little compared to the last events but that's alright. They had put up a photo area and Armie goes first. He's the one to win the award today. Elizabeth engages one of the reporters in a conversation about her dress or make-up, he's not sure. He just watches with adoration how much Armie is loved tonight. He's happy to remain on the sidelines to give him his much deserved moment.

Armie glances back at the side of the photography line, smiling at Timmy. He knows this is their last chance for a while to do this, their only chance maybe to do this while they have hope with each other. He motions for Timmy to join him, smiling when he hesitates. He can practically hear Timmy from here, _go, shine_.  Armie starts walking towards him, he's not taking no for an answer. He wants to have a picture of this moment, this calm before the storm, the moment where they were in love and nothing else matters. When Timmy finally relents, he tries not to beam too much, but he isn't sure it works. His arm wraps around Timmy tightly, tucking him to his side where he belongs.

The roars get louder and Timmy feels embarrassed. This is supposed to be Armie’s moment. But then he’d insisted on him being here so it’s okay. Eventually they have to separate. Timmy leaves as Elizabeth takes his place. No trio pictures today. It would feel wrong. He touches his pocket, feels the paper again. Soon. His heart is beating in his throat as Armie and Elizabeth join him again. It’s time to go in. Timmy swallows. Inside where Dru is waiting.

Elizabeth drops Armie's hand when they get inside and away from the cameras, going through her phone to text someone, post, he doesn't know. He spots her dad talking to his mom and sighs. _Here we go_ . They greet them with smiles and he keeps his mask on as he turns. "This is Timmy." _Timmy, Timmy who you won't approve of, who you don't know what you're missing out on, who you should give a fucking chance to._

Elizabeth's dad shakes his hand with an easy smile and Dru smiles politely, asking him how he's doing tonight. Armie had spent years of his youth memorizing her moods, her shifts in features, watching for the smiles that meant rolled eyes and kindness that meant _you're disappointing me_. He can't read her now, and it scares him.

Timmy is nervous. He doesn't want to mess this up but then again never had to be friendly to someone that he was so angry at. _You hurt him_ . He thinks as he sees her reserved smile. _You told him he's not good enough and he believes you_. It's very hard to remember how to not punch her, how not to tell her off, how to breathe. He feels dizzy with anger for a moment and has to turn away discreetly. He doesn't tell her he's pleased to meet her but says instead, "I've heard a lot about you." It might sound a little like a threat and he doesn't particularly care.

Armie can see it running through Timmy's mind and he worries for a moment that he'll start going off on her. _Protect me if you want, but please don't do this_ , he wants to say. Dru hums in response and smiles at all of them brightly in a way that turns his stomach. He's seen that look before. "Yes well, we've all heard a lot about you, sweetie." Armie's jaw clenches and he grips Elizabeth's arm because he can't grip Timmy's. She seems to understand and deflects, _Dru have you seen the video of Harper at ballet this week?_ They're suddenly huddled around her phone and Armie feels like he might throw up, a little dizzy, a little breathless. He glances at Timmy and tries to tell him he's okay, he'll be fine, please don't worry, but nothing comes out. He knows they'll get the nod to go to their seats and second and he'll be able to walk away from her for a reprieve.

Timmy sees Armie is not okay at all but there's nothing he can do about that. "Sorry." He mumbles, runs a hand through his hair. _Sorry, this sucks. Sorry she's here on the night that's supposed to be yours. Sorry, that I can't be there for you like I want to_. Timmy stuffs his hands in his pockets and draws his shoulders up, looks around. There's a bell ringing, the sign the show is about to start. Timmy lets out a deep breath and shuffles inside. He's told to go backstage because Armie's is one of the first awards presented. He shoots one last glance at him before following the guy.

Armie watches him go with a small smile, trying to remember that he does this all the time, any time he's in Texas. This is nothing, being near her is something he'd spent his entire life learning how to do. It isn't a big deal. The only difference, of course, is that this time Timmy is there, soothing and creating all sorts of anxiety in him like the eye of a hurricane. Dru hugs him before walking away, saying nothing of Timmy, not even when Elizabeth tries to explain why he walked away earlier than them. He walks away first, unable to look at any of them any longer, and takes his seat. Elizabeth isn't far behind and takes his hand when they sit down. "Try not to look so irritated, god. She's harmless." Armie turns his eyes on her and she softens for a moment. "You know what I mean." He shakes his head and pulls his hand from hers, stares at the stage, waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been like 12 years since we uploaded!! It's been a hell of a time for me lately trying to write and do grad school. A true shit show, tbh. Hopefully we'll get some chapters out quickly for yall now though <3 -Linds

Backstage Timmy is bouncing fiddling with his speech in his hands. He hears the host outside open the ceremony, talk about great movies and great actresses and actors. _Damn, right._ Timmy thinks.   _Fuck, he's so great. How can I possibly make everyone understand that?_ This shouldn't be influenced by his mother sitting in the crowd. Everyone still deserved to know how much he loves Armie and she especially so.

He hears his call. _The first award is to be presented by Timothée Chalamet._ Timmy swallows and walks out on stage. He's done this before. He even accepted awards. This is no big deal. But it totally is.

He puts the speech down, swallows, looks at the first lines and decides no. This will not do.

“I’ve written something down but it feels awfully formal now.” He chuckles and starts talking. He just starts talking. "Timothée Chalamet. I bet you're wondering who's that guy." It's for her. She thinks she knows him? She has no idea.

He continues to ramble about relatives in Dallas, _look I'm every bit as American as you are_. His words stumble. _What am I doing? This is supposed to be for Armie_. He surely doesn't appreciate a knight in a white amour speech.

"I'll try to make this short and sweet." He promises and then starts rambling about Matthew because he's not ready to express how he feels for Armie, tries to borrow some more time to find the right words.

Eventually he finds his way back to the topic at hand. "Armie and I got the opportunity to be at the Oscars recently." He explains. This had been the impression he'd had anyway. The two of them attending this event _together_. It's how he'll remember it. He tells them the story about Armie had called him, it had been the middle of the night, and there were feelings he doesn't talk about. Just laughs nervously, points at Armie, saying, _You know what it did to me,_ without actually saying it.

He promises again to wrap it up, looks down at his speech. Sees the part he'd written about how he feels to present an award to Armie, to say nice things about him to an audience. It's professional but on the sweet side so he tries to read but the words sound wrong. He knows he's fidgeting, too and this is a mess. He stops himself mid-sentence, starts again. Tries to the next sentence. Way too cold. No, he can't compare him to anyone. He has to tell them how important he is for him.

"The relationship I have with Armie—" He starts, stops himself again, his heart in his throat. He can't say _that_. He thinks about strolling through the park with him earlier and fears everyone can read it in his face. He has to move back, let the energy out for a moment before he can return.

He looks back at his speech. _Just read it. It's not actually that hard._ "It's unlike any relationship with any actors or people I've worked with," is what he says but what he means is, it's unlike anyone I've ever met. He knows he has to talk about his acting. That's what he's being awarded for. And it's fantastic even from an objective point of view.

He can't stop himself from adding in that _hopefully everyone_ had seen _Call Me By Your Name_. He tells them about filming one of his favourite scenes, one in which Armie's acting went beyond words. The scene always hits him when he watches their movie. It feels a little like opening up a secret in front of so many people and it makes him cross his arms in front of his chest and touch his face, trying to stay composed.

But he feels like his ribs are slowly bending to let everyone see who his heart is beating for. It doesn't really matter at this point, he thinks. "This is really from the heart." He says and looks at him. _This is for you. I told you. I will tell everyone how much you are worthy until the day I die._

He tells everyone how lucky he feels and how much this movie has done for him and that this wouldn't have been possible without Armie. _I am the one with the Oscar nomination. He's the one that guided me. He's the man with the mask who became open for me and for this movie._

He takes a breath, knowing he has to put it into words somehow, hopes his voice will continue to be steady. "But beyond that, I'm gonna say this-" He bites his lips and looks up. "The man - the man who this man is—" He can feel his voice crack. "In an in—" he swallows. "In an industry—”    
He tells him that he wants to become him, hopes he understands. _My brother, my friend, my father, my son, my husband, my lover, myself._  
"After the moment I met him, after two months of filming, after promoting this movie for 15 months now-" _I love you all the same_. He elaborates on how amazing Armie is and looks down at his notes.  
Elizabeth. He would stick to what he had written. She would appreciate him calling her out and she had handled Dru well today and for that he's thankful. Tells her what she wants to hear but has to interrupt himself when he notices he's been rambling for ages and that's not what Armie had called him here for. It's a welcome excuse to skip that bit of the speech.  
He remembers he has to introduced the highlights but then he remembers he had wanted to say something before that. He shouts out to the Film Festival, skips a last heartfelt love confession that consisted out of thankfulness to acknowledge what he'd seen from the start. Even in his last lines he stumbles over his words, says Armie's name ten times too often and can't stop repeating that he'll be called on stage.  
"Let's roll the clips." He finishes after what must've been ten minutes of messy speech resulting in nothing less than a love confession in front of everyone and his mother no less. He steps back and takes a deep breaths as the lights go out to show the highlights of Armie's career so far.

Armie can't fucking breathe and he knows this is a _problem_ because he has to go up there right now and be composed. Elizabeth, who's been silent for the duration of Timmy's speech, pats his knee when he finishes. He can't look at her. The clip reel plays and his heart beats faster and faster when he sees the things they've chosen to show, pushes everything away from him now because he had worked so goddamn hard and this was a moment.

A scene with Timmy appears, his heart melting to his feet, his eyes finding his in the darkened theater, a small smile traveling between them. _The man that this man is_. He nods a little and tries to keep it together, knowing Timmy was struggling to do as much, too. He was gone, completely gone. He'd never get over this, loving him.

He looks down at his hands, sighing softly in his final moment before walking on stage, his eyes glued to Timmy as he goes, a grin spreading across his face with every step, Timmy clapping and beaming before holding his hand out.

 _Fuck that_. Armie pulls him in tight, holding him, patting his back, "Thank you so much," he whispers in his ear. "Thank you." He pulls back, afraid if he lingers at all he'll end up outing himself in front of everyone.

When he's handed his award, it's heavier than he anticipated. He makes a face at the crowd, pulling that mask back up just enough that he felt safe as he thanks them. He knows he should start his speech, but he has to say something, just something, for Timmy.

"This has to be very surreal...uh, for Timmy," he looks back, nodding, averting his eyes quickly back to the speech, trying to remember not to ramble with this. He holds his award as he talks, the weight foreign. He glances back, "If it makes you any comfortable, you can hold this while I'm up here," _because I can't hold your hand, because you deserve this, too, because I'm so glad you're here_.

He locks eyes with Timmy as he talks, nodding a little, begging him to hold it, to be a bigger part of this moment than necessary.

"Uh," _shit don't look at his eyes_ , he nearly loses his train of thought. "Thank you, Timmy," he says, continues on, glancing back and forth, trying to remember that he needs to get to his speech. _Stop talking about him._ His eyes wander from Timmy's to his hands and the award, everywhere in between. _Focus_.

"Coming full circle." _Don't fucking cry._ He smiles brightly to hide the sadness at it ending, the emotion he's starting to be overwhelmed with in regards to everything that had happened today, but especially the past ten minutes.

"Uh," _thank everyone else_ , he thinks. So he does, trying to balance it, trying to be as professional as humanly possible so no one will know.

 _Thank you, thank you, thank you, don't forget anyone_. "To my wife," he gestures to Elizabeth, knowing that he really wouldn't be there without her in many ways. He glances towards his mom as he starts in with her, trying not to be bitter, almost cringing when he hears his voice turn just slightly more harsh. He leans in, extending a hand, trying to stop it from sounding this way, but he can't help it, he has no control over what he's saying or how he's saying it.  
He moves on, tries not to worry about it. He needs some sense of control instead of the facade and turns to look back at Timmy. "This is great," he gestures towards him, staying focused on Timmy. It takes him a second to realize that Armie is talking about the award, and he leans forward to give it to him, Armie grabbing it and meeting his eyes for a fleeting moment.  
One more thank you and Armie is trying to get off the stage, feeling time slipping away from him with his control. He looks at Timmy, glances back to the presenter and then back to Timmy, _don't reveal anything_. He walks right past him, straight to Elizabeth, and lets out a deep sigh. _Not too bad._

Timmy follows him off stage. He wonders if it had been possible not to see what happened there between them. There's no seat free next to him so he has to sit a few rows behind them. He sits down and closes his eyes, letting out a sigh. God, he loves him so much it aches. He only opens his eyes when someone pats his knee. "That was a wonderful speech." The old woman next to him says. "Very heartfelt. I wish someone would ever have said something like that about me. He's very lucky." She tells him quietly. Timmy smiles at her although it's a bit shaky. "Thank you- uh, I-" He runs a hand through his hair. "It's quite alright. He knows." She assures him and pats his knee again before drawing it back.

 

Timmy leans back and let's the rest of the show blur while he tries not to think about how bad it was and what she would say. But even that time ends and they are supposed to meet for dinner together. He stands up and wanders outside to the other building just breathing in the fresh night air for a moment. He'd be caged in with her soon and he didn't know how to take that yet. But despite his fear of what she might say to Armie that might make him retreat into his shell again, he's happy to have said the things he did. Suddenly there's a hand in front of him with a burning cigarette, offering him a drag. Timmy looks up at Armie for a moment before taking it out of his fingers carefully and taking a drag, making sure to place his lips where Armie had put his.

Armie watches him carefully, knowing there would be eyes somewhere that could easily wander to the two of them. "I don't know what I would have done today without you," he says softly, watching smoke billow out of Timmy's mouth, his fingers closing over Timmy's hand to take the cigarette back. He holds it for a moment before placing it between his lips, smiling to himself. _Mint_. He takes a slow drag and blows it out before glancing back to Timmy. "Seriously, I don't know how I would have done any of that if you weren't by my side."

Timmy shrugs and shoves his hand into his pockets. "Easily. You could've had anyone else up there. Nick maybe." He looks up at the stars. "Maybe he wouldn't have lost his mind and stuttered for ten minutes in front of a huge audience filled with film legends." He points out and kicks a stone away.

Armie looks at him and shakes his head. "You're crazy," he says. "There's no one else." Another drag and the cigarette falls to the pavement, his foot crushing it as he exhales. "I don't really care what they'll say about it, Timmy. I loved it, more than you'll ever know." His words were still echoing in Armie's mind, his shaky laughter, his _my relationship_ , his smiles, his _the man that this man is_. Perhaps if Timmy gave him an ultimatum right now he'd run away with him for real. Maybe not, but _maybe_ , he felt so much. He wants to tell him he loves him but he's still nervous with the words, too aware of their gravity in Timmy's eyes. Saying them was a promise, and Armie hadn't made any yet. He dreads the conversation surely to happen with Elizabeth tonight, can't even think about what his mom might say, but knows he wouldn't have Timmy take a single word back for anything.

Timmy looks up at him, bites his lips. He feels the nearly overwhelming need to touch him, to hug him, to kiss him even. "Okay." He says quietly and can't quite stop thinking, _He liked it_. There's so much love in Armie's face it makes him choke up all over again. It takes away any anxiety he has about getting lunch with them all. It all takes a backseat to their love. "That's good- I ugh. It never felt quite right no matter which words I used so you have to make do with what you got." He explains.

Armie smiles a little and glances back to the door. "It never felt right?" he asks, turning back to Timmy when he's satisfied no one is trying to pull them back in yet. "What do you mean? I thought it sounded right." Maybe he stumbled, he probably didn't use his original speech, Armie realizes. _Of course he didn't_. He thinks back over it and remembers moments when Timmy looked like he didn't know what he was even saying— Armie had found it endearing, though a little incriminating, but he was sure people would assume it was youth and nerves like they always did with him. This must be what he means. He wants to hug him, knowing that Timmy's here to offer support, not the other way around; but he also knows that Timmy is prone to as much self doubt as he is, and these moments of anxiety are worsened if he thought his actions had any possibility of pushing people he loved away.

Timmy chuckles and shakes his head. "Perhaps you are right. Feelings are never easy to put into words." He looks around if anyone was coming to get them. "Much less what I feel for you. So I guess it was the closest to explaining that I’ll ever get. It feels a little like that jumbled speech now that I think about it." He admits. He had wanted to make sure and convince the whole room how amazing Armie is and that you cannot not love him. But he had just shown them how much he’s in love with Armie instead and maybe that is fine as well.

"No they're not," Armie agrees. "But you already know I struggle with the putting into words," he chuckles and looks down, his focus and mood shifting. "Hey, seriously, I don't know what's gonna happen in there but I'm glad you're here. Try not to... yell at her, I guess. She doesn't do well with yelling." Armie felt like he needed to prepare him like you would a significant other who you're bringing home for the first time, and he supposes in many ways, this was their equivalent. "She might be okay, there are a lot of people here and she doesn't like scenes."

Timmy nods, takes mental notes. "I- I think I'm just going to ignore her." He suggests and Armie nods. _Okay, good_. They can’t keep standing out there forever, no matter how much they might want to, so they follow everyone inside of the building. They run into Matthew and Armie and him swap some words while Timmy stares in awe. _Two legends_. He thinks before they make their way over to the table. Timmy immediately takes the seat by Armie's side, hoping Elizabeth would take the other.

She doesn't but just because another actor had already sat down there. So she sits on Timmy's other side. When Dru will show up she will have no choice but to take the sit next to her. Timmy can barely hide a smile. They would act like a wall between him and her and he's extraordinarily pleased at that. She comes to them.

"Timothée," she starts and he looks up surprised. "Well," she says slowly. "You sure have to learn a lot about giving speeches in front of an audience. You should thank him for letting you practice at his award." She nods to Armie.

Timmy doesn't care one bit about what she's saying but he can sense Armie going tense at his side. "I know. He's phenomenal, right?" He looks at Armie with bright eyes and a bright smile before glancing up at her again.

There's a tense silence.

"You should hug. There are photographers." Elizabeth points out quietly.

Timmy clenches his teeth for a moment but then reminds himself that she might count on him losing his temper in front of everyone. He is better than that. He is better than to let himself be manipulated by her. So he stands up and hugs her even if he can't bring himself to smile.

It's an awkward moment for all of them, but Armie realizes Elizabeth was probably right about this being captured, if for no other reason than appearances. When Timmy sits back down, Dru makes eye contact with Armie and smiles but stays silent. He's not sure what her move is, but he doesn't know that he really wants to find out either. Armie glances at Timmy and offers him a shy smile, desperate for someone, anyone, to say something to make this less uncomfortable. Elizabeth starts up a conversation with Dru and he sighs, letting himself feel what little relief can come with this. "Thanks, man," he says to Timmy, a careful line between them now that they had such an attentive audience, even _if_ people were engaged in other conversations. He presses his leg against his under the table and sighs. "You okay?" he asks, hiding a smirk, asking both about the hug and teasing about his potential state of mind considering earlier at lunch.

"Me okay." He answers almost automatically. They never had trouble to find a topic of discussion before so Armie doesn't have to exchange one word with his mother. They just talk and talk and talk. At some point, Matthew comes over again and chats with them for a little and Timothée gets an overwhelming feeling of: _So this is my life now_. Time flies by and the whole affair isn't as terrible as he thought it would be. They're just orbiting each other again with touches, conversation, glances.

Again, Armie wonders, _what would I do without you?_ He's relieved to find that he actually enjoys the whole thing and his mother behaves— or at least hasn't said anything outright rude. He catches Elizabeth's eye a few times and stumbles in his speech, but only slightly, and he tells himself it's something that can wait until later. By the time they stand to leave, he feels lighter somehow, as if overcoming this fear would make all the others disappear.

Timmy feels fucking relieved when Dru excuses herself for the night anyway. Elizabeth suggests they go drinking so they do. Timmy declines the offer of alcohol though. He doesn't feel like getting drunk tonight. Armie's touch is enough and he wants to remember all of it. The others have more than enough for him though and when they stumble back to the hotel Armie's arm is only around Elizabeth shoulders for a group photo. A drink at the lobby bar, Elizabeth decides and orders water. "I'll head to the bathroom real quick." He tells her but turns to Armie. "Key card. Sweater." He mumbles under his breath. He needs it to cuddle up tonight while he knows he is with her.

Armie has an immediate war in his head— _should I just go with him?_ He'd been getting looks all night from Elizabeth though, and he worries this would be the last straw. He fishes his card out of his pocket. She's started chatting with someone at the bar and so he leans into Timmy's ear, whispering, "Don't steal anything else," as he slips the card into his hand.

Timmy is tempted to, now that he said it but he focuses first on finding the sweater. He’s a bit out of breath from running up the stairs when he opens the door to their suite and turns the light on. He wonders where to start searching and opens the wardrobe. He snorts at the clear dominance of clothes that belong to Elizabeth. It’s easy to check that the sweater isn’t there. He notices a suitcase filled with rumbled clothes and sorts through it blushing when he realises he’s holding one of Elizabeth’s bras. He quickly puts it back. No success here either. He stands up and looks around the room wondering where else to look when his gaze falls on the bed. It’s clear which side is Armie’s. He lifts the blanket and there it is. He grabs it and pushes his nose into it immediately. _Yes_. He thinks and wants to leave. _Don’t take anything else_. He hears in his head but red boxer shorts are taunting him from the suitcase he’d sorted through. _Fuck it._ He takes them even as he’s blushing bright red and brings them to his room before heading back down again.

As soon as the words leave his mouth he knows he'll have to look through his things to see what else Timmy has taken, but Armie doesn't really mind, he realizes. He asks for a glass of water at the bar as well, thinking it was probably a bad idea to keep drinking when he knows what’s coming.

Sure enough, before they even bring it to him she says, "You want to tell me what happened today?" He sighs and taps the counter. He opens his mouth to talk and she cuts him off— "Don't even try to pull the drunk card, I am sober enough to talk about this."

"You're practically slurring," he says, accepting the glass of water with a smile.

"Wow, okay. You're really hiding something, aren't you?" she asks, stopping him from raising his glass with a hand on his wrist. Water sloshes out onto his slacks and he turns to her, putting the glass down.

"Nothing happened, will you calm down?"

 _“You think I'm stupid, don't you?”_ Her question causes Armie to let out a deep sigh and rub his face. "This is so much easier if you just tell me what you're upset about," he says, swatting her hand away so he can take an actual drink of water.

"You've only been paying attention to him," she says.

"Okay, I think you're being a little dramatic—"

"Oh my god, oh my god. Do not tell me—"

"Hey! I've been by your side the entire fucking night at these bars, I've been next to you." She rolls her eyes. _She's too drunk for this to be a productive conversation_ , he realizes. "Listen, it's just the last time, you know? It's the last award. I think we just wanted it to last a little longer." He surprises himself with his honesty. "And then I could see you were bothered, _so I went drinking with you_."

"Whatever," she says, but he can see that she's not as upset now. There would be more of this conversation, but she'd probably wait until she’s sober. She usually did with stuff like this. Timmy returns to them as Armie takes another drink of water.

Timmy can feel in an instant that the situation is tense. He contemplates where to sit, if he should sit down at all. He does though at Armie’s side and orders a fresh juice. Something else than water which he’d been drinking for hours now.

“Sorry, all that water caught up on me.” He excuses himself and slips the key card back into Armie’s pocket in an unsupervised moment.

Armie shifts when he feels his hand on his leg, in his pocket. He swallows and glances at Elizabeth, who seems to have moved on from the frustration of their conversation. She was usually carefree when she drank, but sometimes she could get extremely clingy as well, needing his attention. Tonight had been a pendulum of her wanting it and pushing it away. Armie slips his hand into the pocket Timmy just occupied and touches the card, somehow thinking it would bring him comfort, chasing his touch. It doesn't, and he's just as uneasy as he was when Timmy came back, perhaps even more. "Maybe we should just go to bed," he says quietly, not wanting to leave Timmy, but knowing this was going to be miserable caught between the two of them like this, literally and figuratively.

Timmy sees Elizabeth knock her water back and nod. She stands up, staggers a bit and then grabs his hand to pull him along. Timmy shoots him a reassuring look, or at least that’s what he hopes it looks like. He stays to finish his juice in peace and tries not to imagine what conversation they were having. Or if they are talking at all. He imagines Elizabeth demandingly pulling him into bed and feels sick. He knows he has no right but that doesn’t make it less awful to think about. Eventually he leaves to snuggle up in bed with the sweater he just scored back. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, Armie's and Elizabeth's instagram stories were great inspiration for this chapter. The ones they post are referencing the real stories they posted on that day. Enjoy guys--there's a LOT that happens here.

"He's in _love_ with you!" Armie clenches his jaw, shutting the door behind them into their room and resting his head against it for a moment. "God," she draws out. "He's so in love with you, you know that, right? Of course you do," she says, sitting down on their bed. "Does he even care? That you're married? I mean come on, did he befriend me because he wanted to be on my good side?" she asks, laughing a little.

"Hardly, considering you were the one who befriended him," he says, walking away from the doorway. He glances around and sees the corner of a shirt escaping from one of their suitcases. _Ah_.

"Okay," she says, shaking her head with a puff of laughter. He walks over to the suitcase and lifts the top as if he were going to unpack for them. "I just think it's silly. You shouldn't encourage it."

"What? Hanging out with him? Talking to him? He's my best friend, Elizabeth," he says, trying not to reveal too much.

"I used to be your best friend," she says. He drops the clothes in his hands and grabs either side of the suitcase, leaning over it, his head hanging low. "Elizabeth—"

"I haven't been your best friend in a long time," she sighs, leaning back against the bed as she tries to take off her shoes. "It's fine. You're not mine." He glances at her and she shrugs. "You're never around anymore and when you are you're different. Not my best friend, barely even know you."

"That's not true," _But it is, it's true_. He abandons the suitcase and sits next to her. He sees the sweater missing from the covers and knows he's probably sleeping in it tonight. Nothing about this was fair. "About tonight—" She turns to him, kisses him, pulls at his hair. _God, no._ He pulls her hands away from his and separates them. "I'm not doing this," he tells her, shaking his head. Timmy was everywhere, on their bed, in his suitcase, at the door. He couldn't do this. "I'm going to take a shower." He stands, relieved when she doesn't challenge him.

Timmy closes his door behind him. The evening had been—less crazy than he’d expected. He looks over at the bed and sees the treasures he’d scored. First, he was in need of some relaxation. It had been an emotional rollercoaster anyway and he needed some comfort. He considers the shower but then discards it. He peels off his clothes and takes his pajama bottoms. When he reaches for the sweater he hesitates heart suddenly starting to beat faster. He had taken it, he might as well use it. He grabs the boxers as well and walks into the bathroom. He takes his time filling the bathtub with hot water and emerges himself in it letting all the stress fall off him and only the good bits staying. He remembers them this morning in the streets, flirting, then at the park wrapped around each other, at lunch with legs pressed together, at the Awards with a jumbled love confession, at dinner chatting comfortably. He opens his eyes and the boxers are taunting him. He feels his cock stir under water at the prospect to get Armie’s unaltered smell. Elio has done the same and had been proven right about the peach already. Timmy reaches out and pulls the boxers closer, presses them to his nose first - the thick scent of musk hitting him - then opens his mouth, licks it where he knows Armie’s cock rests. Testing at first, then more eager. It stifles his moan. When he reaches down and starts stroking himself it’s only a matter of a few strokes before he comes. “Fuuuck.” He groans as he puts the boxers away and lets his head fall back riding on the bliss of post-orgasm.

Armie lets the hot water run over his body, wishing it would wash away any memory that wasn't Timmy from today. His conversation with Elizabeth had sobered him significantly and now he just has a headache and a bad kink in his neck. The water helps when he stands under it, but it goes cold too fast for his liking. After wrapping a towel around his waist, he goes to his suitcase, sifting through it. "Where are my boxers?" he asks Elizabeth. She'd packed for him, he never knows where anything is when she goes on a trip with them. Other suitcase, she tells him. _The open one_ , he realizes, with another darting glance at her. _He wouldn't_. He finds where she's put his boxers, but there's a pair missing. She asks if he can't find them when he just stands there staring. He looks up and realizes she's moving closer to look. "No, it's fine—" he tells her, but she's turning the luggage and looking herself. He sighs and waits.

"You’re missing a pair, a could have sworn I packed more than this," she says, looking through the bag. He shrugs and bites his lip. _Do not think about it_ , he tells himself. _Do not think about him wearing them_.

"How the hell did you lose a pair of boxers?" she asks incredulously. He shrugs again when she looks up. "You don't know?"

"Maybe you didn't pack them," he says nonchalantly.

"You wore them the other night," she says, narrowing her gaze. Armie shrugs again, unable to stop himself.  
"I don't want to know," she says suddenly, throwing her hands up and walking into the bathroom, locking it behind her. He sighs and sits down on the bed, grabs his phone, types out a text. _Fuck you, my boxers? God damn it Timmy._ He hits send.

Timmy eventually gets out and lets the water drain while taking a shower. Then he wraps up in his pajama bottoms and the sweater. It’s so comfortable and smells like Armie again. He pads into the main room and cuddles into bed before checking his phone blushing when he sees Armie’s message. He hadn’t thought he’d notice. _I don’t know what you mean. Have you misplaced your boxers? Lmao you’re getting old_. He sends it before overthinking. He looks over at the bundle of red fabric contemplating to send a picture but he’s probably with Elizabeth. It wouldn’t be a clever thing to do. _You can have them back. Just not right away_. He promises. There’s still a wait stain from his tongue left.

Armie dresses, hearing the bath run after a minute. He moves everything off the bed and tries not to obsess over his phone waiting for a reply. It's a while before the bath fills and the water turns off, before he almost gives up, before there's a text back. He laughs a little, shaking his head. He starts to type a response but stops when he gets the second message. He reads it again, then again, his eyes moving over to the bathroom door for a moment before returning to his phone. He tries not to think about it, tries desperately to do anything but think about it, but can't. Timmy is far too much like Elio for Armie's mind to not wander there. _you're not wearing them...are you_. He swallows hard and hits send, his heart starting to race. He'd sobered up enough to know that the sudden feeling of slight intoxication had nothing to do with his drinking. Quickly, he deletes the texts he's sent and received, just in case.

The phone vibrates in Timmy’s hands and his fingers drip over themselves to open the message. He blushes at the messages and thinks about Armie imagining it. _Nope. I am wearing the sweater though. Good job on that_. He sends and decides this is innocent enough. He brings a hand up that’s nearly fully covered by the sleeve with which he pulls the collar up to nuzzle his nose in. He takes a selfie like that and sends it before he can think better of it.

The sound of the phone vibrating on the nightstand tears Armie from his thoughts, the message making him smirk.  
_Fuck you're cute._ He hits send, but can't bring himself to delete the picture. It would be fine, he tells himself as he glances back to the bathroom. He had no idea if this was going to be a long bath or a short one. He looks back at his phone, back at the "nope." _Please, god, let it be a long bath_ , he thinks, already half hard. She'd think it’s for her if she came back now, she'd try to take care of it. He scolds himself suddenly for deleting the texts, no longer having timestamps to see how long it took Timmy to reply to him. It had been a while, though. And Armie had taken a shower before sending it. Timmy hadn't had his phone. _God, please let it be a long bath_ , he thinks, his hand lowering to palm himself. He turns the phone over on the bed and lays down, his hand lowering into his boxers.  
_If you did what I think you did, keep them. they're more useful to you than me_ He types out one handed, hits send. He starts stroking himself, he can picture it, let's it drive him, his eyes darting back to the bathroom door before his head falls back against the pillows when he hears he's gotten another text. He can't look at it, too far gone already. The knowledge that she could walk out seems to only help, suddenly feeling the need to finish quickly. He remembers making out with Timmy in his hotel room just days ago, the look on his face when moaned. Armie reaches for a few tissues, moments before he cums, his hand stilling, eyes glazed but looking to his phone.

Timmy’s heart stumbles when he reads the message. Armie seems to be alone, he concludes, gets daring. He looks at the boxers again, thinks, gets up and takes them back into his hand. They’re still a little wet. He flings himself back into his bed. _Do you want to see?_ He texts and then opens his front camera and positions the boxers so that the tongue makes an outline where usually the cock does. He hits sends and then quickly closes the app so he doesn’t have to look at it again in mortification. He gets up and puts the boxers into an extra bag.

When Armie's breathing stables out, he grabs his phone, sitting up and tossing the tissues into the trash can. He opens the messages and freezes. His eyes dart back to the bathroom when he hears water draining, panic striking. He looks back at the phone, swallows hard, averts his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath. _Damn_. He hits send before thinking better of it, then stands and paces in the hopes that it would stop him from doing something stupid. He had minutes if even. He turns the lights off and gets under the covers, his phone in his hand. _you're such an elio_ He types, hits send with a smirk. He hesitates over the texts Timmy sent, knowing it was undeniable evidence against himself but wanting to keep the texts anyway, just in case, for later, maybe. He locks his phone and lays there, eyes wide, hoping she wouldn't strike up a conversation when she walks out. "You asleep?" she asks.

"Almost," he whispers, trying to sound tired.

“Mmh.” She says noncommittally. Maybe a tad disappointed before sliding into bed next to him.

 _Delete this - Sleep well. I love you_.

The phone lights up on his nightstand. “Who’s texting you at this time of the day?” She asks curiously but doesn’t look.

"Probably Timmy," he says. "You know how he is, sometimes sends goodnight texts." His heart is racing out of his chest, _please don't look_.

"Timmy," she says. "Of course." He feels the bed shift, how she turns away from him. With a glance over his shoulder to double check, he picks up the phone, shielding it from her, wondering if it's worth it to look. He asks her what time she wants to wake up, sets an alarm, checks the message with a smile. He does as he's told before slipping the phone back onto the nightstand and snuggling into the bed. He feels more content than he has in days, more sure of himself and Timmy than he did yesterday.

Timmy wakes the next morning surrounded by the scent of the man he loves. He giggles and buries his nose in his sweater deciding to sleep in. He gets his switch out and starts playing trying not to text Armie first. He might still be asleep. He doesn’t want to appear too clingy.

Elizabeth wakes with a new enthusiasm and doesn’t bother waking Armie before she got ready in the bathroom. She pulls their jogging outfits out. “Darling, wake up. I want to go jogging. I think Austin food has made me fat.” She calls to him. Yesterday had been a weird day. It’s been a weird time lately. They just needed to do more couple stuff again. They’d start today.

Armie groans and watches her. "You're insane," he says, checking his phone. He tries not to worry about the lack of text, thinks Timmy must still be asleep. "Also, there's no way you're going jogging. You're going to take those stupid vitamins instead of breakfast," he says, rolling over and stretching. "They always make you sick."

"I'll eat breakfast!" she insists, glancing at him. "UP! Get ready, come on!"

Armie shakes his head but does what she asks. She never eats when she’s hungover, and there is no way she isn't hungover. "I'm just saying, I think you'll regret it."

"You just don't want to run," she says, pulling her hair back. He rolls his eyes and smirks. Oh, he'd enjoy being right. He dresses quickly and checks his phone, shaking his head and stuffing it into his pocket. He wonders if they crossed a line last night, if he shouldn't have texted him. _Worry later_ , he tells himself before grabbing his running shoes.

Timmy tries not to become desperate, not to start looking. But there’s no message. And he just wonders if they’re alright? He opens IG and is surprised that they both have posted a story. It might mean nothing, he tells himself. He decides to look at Armie’s first. It’s a video of a sick Elizabeth with a cackling Armie in the background. They are out jogging, he realises and tries not to let it sting. Her story comes up next and his heart makes a little jump. He screenshots it to look in peace. Yes it’s a selfie but it looks like she forced it on him. She seems to be in an unhealthily good mood. But Armie is- he’s everything. Yet again. Always. Timmy takes his time to study his face. The slight crinkle around his eyes. He’s a little amused but mostly tired. For some reason Timmy thinks his eyes are sending a soft message to him but he might be projecting. He touches his thumb to picture, caresses his cheek softly. Unfortunately he slides the picture away and his selfie from last night is staring at him. Blushing he deletes it quickly. He keeps the picture of Armie though. He cannot not text him then. _Hey_ That’s good. Not too clingy. Very uncommitted. Everything else would be a desperate try to communicate how much he misses him. And he doesn’t need that right now

She tells Armie to delete it for the fifth time. "Oh no, there is _no_ way. How many pictures did you take of me when I was sick, huh? Besides, this is evidence. I'm using this against you the next time you think you're always right," he says, smirking at her. She tells him she looks bad in it, he rolls his eyes. Bad image, she says, he rolls his eyes again, still smirking. His phone vibrates and he looks down at it, his steps faltering. Timmy's text stares back at him, begging him to reply. _hey, how'd you sleep?_ He thinks for a second, erases it; _how are you?_ erases it; _morning sweet tea_ , hits send. He isn't sure what the rules are anymore.

"I just really think it's rude," she says, "you better not be posting another." He laughs a little and stuffs his phone in his pocket. He isn't sure why she’s so willing to forget yesterday, but he’s embracing it while it lasts.

Timmy nearly drops his switch when gets the text. Fool, he thinks of himself and shakes his head. He smiles when he reads the text. It’s cute. He thinks about what to write for a long moment and ends up with _How’s jogging going?_ and then because he can’t stop worrying _Did you eat something at least?_

"Who are you texting?" Armie gives her a look. "Timmy, right of course." She goes back to her phone and rolls her eyes. Armie watches for a moment before opening the text and frowning. So that's what broke his radio silence. _she made me, i felt bad saying no_ he sends off. He looks around at the scenery and remembers his walk with Timmy just the day before, how they'd followed these paths and ducked down the most secluded to steal moments like they were on the run. _I ate, don't worry._ He hits send, biting his lip and fidgeting with the phone afterwards. It draws Elizabeth's eyes, but nothing seems to be able to truly stop her from trying to enjoy her day.

Timmy frowns. He had not asked for justification and yet he got one. It sounds like Armie felt bad. _Okay that’s good. Miss you_. He sends. _~~My bed is cold without you~~._

“How about a selfie? With the lake?” Elizabeth asks and pulls him over to the side of the bridge. She has to go up on her tiptoes but when she snaps the picture she kisses his cheek. She doesn’t post it. Not yet. She feels like she might need it later though.

Armie glances at the picture, smiling tightly at her as his phone vibrates. He glances down and reads the text, shielding it from her, half to protect himself, half to protect her. _miss you too_. He sends quickly, not sure how far he could push his luck with Elizabeth. _Wear my sweater, I'll hug you soon_. The phone returns to his pocket, his eyes wandering. He’s starting to understand that this isn't something he could really hide from anymore; it isn't going away, his feelings are getting stronger and he isn't sure how long he'd be able to hide texts and glances and touches from the people around him. He worries even more about being apart, of returning to LA and Timmy to New York. He's not sure they'd survive that without some sort of definitive answer as to what this is. "What are you thinking about?" Elizabeth asks, eyeing him skeptically.

"Going home," he says quietly. _Home to LA. Home to him_.

Timmy feels butterflies in his stomach when he gets the text. He has to put the phone away to perform a ridiculous combination of a wiggle and a squeal before he can answer. _I still am. Also not so patiently waiting for you to_. It’s only then that he realises he should get something to eat as well. But he decides to wait. Maybe there will be an opportunity with Armie later.

Elizabeth breathes out relieved. “Yeah. I can’t wait to go home. It’s been a bit insane. I mean the buzz and attention is great but I feel like you’re slipping away,” she admits. “Going home will help.” She assures more herself than him.

Armie smiles at his phone before scrolling in his messages, bypassing _that_ picture for the first, Timmy with sweater paws and his nose tucked safely in the knit, his eyes bright. His chest seizes at the image, the kind eyes full of adoration and excitement, the soft hair...suddenly, he wants to leave, wants to go to him _now,_ to hold him and tell him he'll leave her, he'll do what it takes, he'll be with him no matter what. Timmy had told him he would be his protector, but all Armie wants is to wrap him up, keep _him_ safe from all the pain in this world, all the heartache. He wants to be _his_ protector, too. He scrolls back to type, _no matter what she posts today, I’m thinking about you_. He hits send and sighs, nodding at what Elizabeth says. "I feel like that, too," he admits. "I don't know that LA will help, though. But then it'll be good to work again soon," he says.

"Go to New York, you mean?" she asks, looking at the lake with a fake smile to hide the irritation she feels. "He's not even going to be there. I will, though. For the record. In case you forgot."

Armie shakes his head and bites his tongue. "Can we not do this here? Can we please just not right now?" It had been a nice morning, normal even, as normal as it could be for them. Fighting about Timmy when he’s feeling ready to run would be messy and doing it in public would be disastrous. She nods and pulls her phone back out.

Timmy bites his lips and paces the room. His heart feels about to burst, and he can’t resist liking a sappy love quote on Instagram. Then he opens his texts again. _lunch??_ He sends feeling eager and greedy.

“I think we should get lunch together. It’ll make me feel better about those vitamins anyway,” she suggests and starts leading the way. When she notices Armie has pulled his phone out again she rolls her eyes. “Can you _not_ do this all the time?”

"You're kidding, right?" he says, looking at her with wide eyes. "You're _kidding_ ," he repeats, pointedly looking at the phone still in her hand. He laughs out of frustration and shakes his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets with his phone in anger. _At least I know the people I'm interacting with_. He’s bitter and it’s rude but he can’t help the thought. "Lunch, fine. Whatever."

"Well I don't want to go if you're going to be like this," she says, crossing her arms. _For the love of God._

"Listen if you don't want to fight, don't start shit. That's how this works," he mutters. "I'll go and we can have a nice time but don't start shit." He knows he really has no right to talk all things considered, but they'd been having this same fight about phones and attitudes and his behavior and specifically Timmy for months now and he’s tired of it. She's quiet for a minute before suggesting a place as if nothing happened. He lets out a sigh and nods, phone still firmly in his pocket.

Timmy waits and waits but there’s no reply so he eventually accepts his fate and pulls on some more appropriate clothes and goes out to stroll around the city and finds something to eat. He wonders if he gets to see Armie again before they’d probably all go out together again tonight. The food tastes dull and Timmy finds himself daydreaming more often than not.

They go to eat and Elizabeth is pleased he does keep his phone in his pocket. She talks to him about upcoming bakery stuff. Nothing too hard.

“I think we should go on a vacation again. Since award season is over now. It’d be good to get back together. Don’t you think?” She asks reaching for his hand.

Armie lets out a puff of air, staring at her hand. "I mean we already talked about potentially doing the Cayman's," she says.

"That was months ago," he replies with a shake of his head. His own voice sounds foreign to him, remembering he’s supposed to talk to her about potentially going somewhere with Timmy. Alone. To the Cayman's specifically. "I don't know, I..." He can't ask. She's already suspicious and while this could be an opening for him to tell her what's going on, the prospect of ending his marriage so carelessly makes him want to throw up. He thought this would be easier, silly him. She looks closely at him and rubs her thumb over his hand, tells him if he just wants to stay home with the kids that's okay, but he should really go on vacation. It'd be good, she keeps saying. Good to be together, good to be alone, good to have some fresh air. It's the _alone_ that hurts the most.

"Why don't you want to do this?" she asks suddenly irritated. "What's going on?" He finds himself wishing she was the same person she was eight years ago, his best friend. He shrugs; it hasn't been this impossible for him to keep up his facade in years. "You're scaring me. Are you still sick? What is it?" She still hadn't asked about the Oscars night, and he wonders now if she had any idea at all.

"I'm not sick, it just doesn't feel real..." he pauses. "It just doesn't feel right." A part of him still wishes desperately that the woman he fell in love with sits across from him, that he could open up and tell her everything. But he’s not the same as he was either. The realization that they've both grown makes him ache a little.

“What? What doesn’t feel real? That it’s over? There’ll be more projects. For both of you. That doesn’t mean you have to stop talking.” She assures him. She just wishes it wouldn’t be so much. She wishes he wouldn’t look like that when they did.

“What would make it better?” She asks. “Right now? Is it something you have to get out of your system?” she continues. What if he wants to fuck him? Could she let him do that? Perhaps she could’ve done once but now she isn’t sure he would ever come back to her if she let him. “Just talk to me. I don’t- I don’t understand you anymore.” She admits. It frightens her. How different they’ve become.

He looks up, confused. He's not sure he ever would have anticipated this. Did she really know what she was asking him? He looks down and feels everything too strongly all at once. "He means a lot to me, Elizabeth," he says quietly. "He's part of my life, you know? But the movie is over and I know there are other projects but it's always going to be different and what if I'm always chasing that feeling?" He can't meet her eyes, he's not even sure which feeling he's talking about. He doesn't even know why he's telling her; years of habit using her as a confessor perhaps. "It'll be fine," he shakes his head and clears his throat. "I'll figure it out, I guess."

"Armie," she sighs.

"You don't want to talk about this, trust me." Armie thinks about Timmy in his sweater somewhere and panics. _Fuck_. "I'll be back in a minute," he says, standing as calmly as he can without raising suspicion. He makes a show of asking where the bathroom is and heading off towards it, pulling his phone out after rounding the corner. _I'm so sorry shit I’m sorry I’m with her she told me no phones I’m sorry_. Send.

Timmy jumps when his phone vibrates. A text from Armie. He understands but he honestly doesn’t know what to answer. Would it make sense to even ask to see him before tonight?

He leaves it be.

Elizabeth waits for him to come back. When he does there’s a haunted look in his eyes. “What now?” she asks annoyed. “Do you want to see him? God you’re clingy.” It makes her feel a little nauseous. Why is he attached to him like that? “Don’t you see I’m trying here? Look I think it’s a phase. You’ll both get over it. When we are in NYC he’s going to be in England. That distance will do you good.”

 _Yes, I want to fucking see him_. Armie sits back and tries not to get upset; "No, I know, I know you are." He looks at the ceiling and thinks about the last time they spent any significant time apart, how it made him realize how much he liked him, that it wasn't the characters, it was _them_. Distance, again? Knowing it was mutual, after having a taste? "But what if it doesn't do any good?" he asks quietly, knowing he should shut up but feeling hopeless and reckless enough to start fires with each second that passed without a reply from Timmy. He was usually quick to respond, though Armie knows he deserves silence, at least a little. "Do you remember what happened after Italy? The call I got from him at midnight, the _I-can't-function-because-I'm-so-depressed_ call? What if things get worse, what if we can't let go?"

Elizabeth frowns, starts fiddling with her napkin. “That sounds like you know more than I do.” She says quietly. “What do you want to tell me? Stop with these what ifs, please.“

_Incoming Call from Sweet Tea_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so.... **whistles innocently** what did you uh.... what did you think.... **smirks**  
> (also, a shout out-- when we wrote this chapter, it was right after the chapter in between the lines came out that featured deleted texts for the first time and i LOST MY MIND over the concept, so it gets featured starting in this chapter haha! if yall haven't read that fic what are you even doing?)  
> -Linds


	9. Chapter 9

"I gotta—" Armie looks at her, shaking his head. _This might be my only chance with her, to make her see_. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth, I am. You have no idea. But I _have_ to take this," he says, his voice shaking. "And I need you to let me." He swallows, his hand hovering over accept. Her face twists in some mixture of confusion and frustration as she realizes it's Timmy. She looks away from him, a cold settling over her.

"Do what you have to," she says, taking a sit of her drink and pulling out her phone. He closes his eyes for the briefest moment before standing and pressing _‘accept’_ before it goes to voicemail, his feet carrying him back to the hallway in the back.

"Hi," he says mid-stride, his voice a little breathless and strained.

“Hey.” Timmy answers feeling strangely breathless as he hears Armie voice. He doesn’t know what gave him the courage to call. “I wanted to hear your voice. I’m sorry if I’m interrupting—?” He drums one finger on the table.

Armie sighs and leans against the wall, a hand lifting to rub stress away from his neck. _I was worried I fucked up the second I remembered your text_. He tries to think of something to say that won't sound desperate or reveal the state of mind he’s currently in.  "I um... I'm sorry, about lunch. I didn't... the second I took my phone out she got upset and... I'm sorry," he says, his eyes closing tightly. He wishes he could see him, that he’d FaceTimed instead, but then thinks better of it when he realizes Timmy would see how nervous he felt.

He sounds like a wreck if Timmy is honest and he doesn’t know how to make it better and it kills him a little. “No, it’s okay. I just got too hungry and had to find something to eat. It tasted boring.” He admits. “I understand. I really do.” He hesitates, listens to Armie’s breathing which is too quick. “You two—you’re not okay, are you?” He asks carefully.

Armie holds the phone tighter and looks at the end of the hall. "No," he says simply. "I don't think so. It's um..." he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly to release some of the nervous energy. "It's weird, and I don't know what to do. I keep telling her things and I can't stop and I don't really know what's happening," he admits.

Timmy feels suddenly much more awake. “Telling her—Armie no. You have—you have to think about it. I don’t want you to do this lightly. I don’t want you to blame me.” He stands up having already paid and leaves the restaurant walking through the streets to get rid of his nervous energy.

Armie attempts to internalize what Timmy tells him, though he turns to the wall and presses his forearm against it, his head resting on his wrist. "I'm freaking out," he whispers, voice tense. "She's trying, man. In her own way, she's really trying. And it's making me crazy, she doesn't know how I feel but I think she knows something's up, she called it a fucking phase, said something about getting you of my system." He lets out a shaky breath and starts pacing.

Timmy mirrors the shaky breath. It’s what he’s afraid of. “Maybe you should,” he says quietly and after a long break, “Hurt me all you want.” He hears Armie let out a disagreeing sound. “I mean it. I love you. I want you to be happy. And I have accepted that this might not be with me. Long ago. Maybe from the start when I didn’t even know you’d turn out to be my soulmate,” he explains quietly and clutches his phone tightly in his hand.

"Please don't even say that, I don't want to hurt you," Armie tells him in earnest. "I want this, I want _you_." His pacing sputters to a stop and he lets himself sit down against the hallways wall, elbows on knees, head in hand. "It's just harder than I thought, you know? She's been there for so many years, and it's not the same with her anymore but..." he doesn't know how to express himself without making everything worse. Timmy would see it as reluctance to love him, he’s sure of it, when really it was just fear of the unknown, of too many changes all at once. "But I— I love... _I love you,_ " he sighs.

Timmy’s steps falter. For a long moment he can’t say anything overwhelmed by the strength of Armie’s will, his feelings. He presses his phone even harder to his ear not wanting to miss a breath. “ _Fuck_ , yes I—can I see you?” He begs. He needs to see his face, to touch him. “Only if it doesn’t—you know. Bother you too much.”

"It doesn't bother me," he tells him, his voice breaking along with his heart. "You never bother me, Timmy. I'm just realizing this is going to be really hard, but god I need you there, you know?" He takes a deep breath and stretches his legs out. _How to make him understand?_ "You're going out with us later, right? I don't want to go without you."

Timmy nods before he realises Armie can’t see him. “Sure. I don’t—should we really have this conversation already? Maybe you should just take a little break for now.” He suggests. “No—you know. We’ll talk about this in person. Hotel? Or where do you want to meet?” He asks.

Armie looks back at the entrance to the hall, thinking it over. "I don't know, hotel I guess. I'll see if I can get away for a little while," he says, suddenly understanding that all the couple-stuff Elizabeth had been pulling this morning might have been intended to avoid just this. _How much did she really know?_ "I'll figure it out," he tells him

“Okay, I’ll be in my room. You know where to knock.” He says breathlessly and before he has even ended the call he starts running.

Elizabeth is sipping a coffee when Armie returns. “And? Did you get what you wanted?” She asks hoping he’d be more relaxed now.

"I don't know," he says, slipping back into his seat. He looks at her and wonders if he should even bother, how much he ought to be telling her. She'll probably just assume he wants to fuck him, get it over and done with. Armie isn't sure she understood it was so much more than that. "He wants to talk in person," he starts slowly, looking at the table as he composes himself into hiding. "So I guess I'll do that at some point today," he adds, looking up at her, almost in question.

“Well, we’ll meet up with everyone tonight. I figured you’d talk then.” She says cynically. They stare at each other across the table neither of them giving in. “Do you want to fuck him?” She asks bluntly needing to know. She could deal with that. He never got to explore this particular interest when he was young, didn’t dare to and they got together so young... Timothée was attractive. It’s okay that he might get curious. But they had known each other for so long now. Could it ever only be a fuck? Were they about to ruin their friendship for that? Is that what had them so wired up?

"Jesus Christ, Elizabeth!" His eyes dart around to see if anyone heard. His heart starts hammering in his chest and feels the all too familiar warmth rush up the back of his neck, his cheeks, his ears. Things had been tense between the two of them off and on for months, ever since press started (and even earlier, if he was being truly honest) but she'd never had the audacity to straight up ask him something like this. "What the fuck do you want me to say?" he asks, leaning in. She wouldn't ask if she didn't know, he realizes. "Do you want me to say yes? Don't even pretend you'd be okay with it for a second, don't ask questions you don't want the fucking answers to," he spits out before leaning forward and taking a drink of water, his arms crossing over his chest afterwards.

Her eyes fill with tears but she doesn’t let them spill. She still has some pride left. “Yes, you’re right. I would not be fine with. Not at all. But I can’t deal with _this_. I can’t deal with this now and much less when we are back with the children. You’ve lost your mind and god forbid if it takes—“ she lowers her voice now. “If it takes you to fuck him and drive your friendship against a wall then I might as well spend the rest of my life making you remember why you’re straight.” She relents. It’s the desperate grasping for straws but she couldn’t imagine him being gone this far that she couldn’t win him back yet. She reaches for his shoulders, her fingers fisting in his shirt as she pulls him closer to whisper into his ear. “I’ll ride you until you forget his name.”

She lingers before releasing him harshly so he falls back against his seat, his breath sputtering out in a puff. He thinks for the umpteenth time today that this is _not_ what he expected. He blushes harder, trying to force his face to cool down by covering a cheek with his hand when the thought presses against his mind, _you'd have to make me forget my name as well_. He swallows hard and stares at the table. "I can't even begin to tell you had much I don't want to be talking about this right now," he says, dropping his hands back to cross over his chest.

She smirks feeling her pride restored at him seeing him struggle to calm down again. She crosses her legs elegantly and makes a show to sip from her coffee. “We can continue in the bedroom if you like.” She suggests with a coy smile.

His eyes dart up to hers and he sees the smug look cross her face. He shakes his head, almost laughing that she could think he was affected by the image of _her_ riding him, not someone else. Suddenly he panics, thinking she would _actually_ try to fuck his brains out when they returned. He shakes his head slightly. "This isn't healthy," he tells her.

“You never worried about your stamina before.” She points out and finishes her coffee. “But I mean we all get older. There’s no shame in admitting—“ she catches sight of his devastated face. “Alright, Alright, never mind.” She waves for the waiter to pay. “I just think you are—too hasty. Caught up in some fantasy. You don’t suddenly decide to be turned off by a pair of breasts.” She tells him quietly before smiling at the waiter trying to stir a bit of his jealousy. That usually always worked him up.

"Hasty," he laughs a little. His eyes wander away from her and he thinks if only she knew, if only she knew it had been a year and a half that he'd been thinking about Timmy. "Elizabeth, I don't _decide_ to be turned on or off by anything. That's the point. You don't decide, your body does. That's literally how physical attraction works," he mutters. _And guess what? I might be fucking bisexual, so there's that,_ he thinks. He looks back at her wide eyes. "I'm just really not in the mood right now, okay?"

She looks down and nods. “Fine.” She pays and they walk back in tense silence. Back at the hotel she pulls him along into their room. “How’s this supposed to work, huh?” She asks. “So you think you’re into men now. Okay. I get that. But like—“ she runs a hand through her hair. “Aren’t you attracted to me at all anymore?” She asks.

_New picture from Sweet Tea_

He doesn't even try to deny the men comment, can't open that conversation up. What he _really_ wants is to look at his phone but something tells him to wait, to reply to her first. "Yes, but..." _You're not him_. He takes a deep breath and pulls her against his chest in a loose hug. "I just need to figure this out, okay?" he tells her, because he doesn't know what else to say, because he can't bring himself to tell her what he's really thinking, how he really feels about Timmy. He pulls away and walks towards the bathroom, opening the text once he's inside.

Timmy waits anxiously for an answer. He’d wrapped himself up in Armie’s sweater again. _It’s not your arms though._ He’d sent.

Outside Elizabeth was struggling to realise how bad her marriage really looked. Maybe if they both took a break? God how would they tell Harper? Ford? The public?

As soon as he sees it, Armie rests his weight against the bathroom door and slides down to sit. He looks at the picture for a moment, the nervous eyes and tentative smile, the knit covering whatever shirt he was wearing underneath, if he was wearing one. He sighs and sends, _I fucking needed that_. His head rests against the cool door and he replays the conversation in his mind, wondering how this is going to work.

 _When are you coming over?_ Timmy asks impatiently bouncing on his heels. He wants Armie’s arm wrapped around him again. _What happened?_ He adds when the meaning of Armie’s message fully registers.

Armie weighs his options, wonders if he could get away with it. Probably not, he realizes, but he might leave anyways. He missed him. _Not sure. Soon I hope. . . she knows something’s going on._ He hits send before he thinks better of it and stares at the screen.

What does she know? Timmy’s heart starts racing. He doesn’t want Armie to feel unhappy or pressured. Everything had happened so quick after Sunday. _We should talk about this_. He begs. _For her sake, too_.

 _I know_ Armie sends quickly. Timmy is right, and he has been wanting to talk to him about it all anyways. He stands and straightens his shirt, realizing he had to suck it up and face her. He walks out of the bathroom to see her sitting on the bed. "I have to go talk to him," he says quietly. "And I know that pisses you off, and I know I haven't been fair to you lately, but I just really would appreciate it if you would let me do this. We can talk later, I promise."   
She glances back at him without emotion. He almost worries she'll ask more questions but instead, she says, "I clearly have no control over you, so go ahead."   
He bites his tongue, shaking his head. It's not worth it, he doesn't think, to get into this right now. They'll fight and it'll be bad, really bad, because he just wants to see Timmy and that is bound to come up.

Elizabeth watches as he doesn’t take the bait, accepts his fate. She can’t let him go like that. She jumps up and hugs him from behind. It’s a desperate wish for something they had lost long ago. “Promise to come back. Please.” She says quietly and buries her face in his shoulder. She feels his finger softly loosening her grip and feels her tears get the better of her. “Oh god I’m sorry.” She carefully tries to wipe them away without ruining her makeup.

"No, no, I am," he sighs, running a hand over of his face. "I just feel like no matter what I do I'm fucking something up, and if I don't talk to him it's going to get worse." He doesn't know how to explain himself further without telling her everything, and while that would surely result in her throwing him out, he isn't sure he could handle it either. It makes it difficult, the fact that a part of him still loves her in some ways while the rest of him loves Timmy. "Please don't cry," he says, wiping a tear.

She chuckles. “You just ruined it, didn’t you?” She catches his hand and inspects the makeup on his thumb. She feels like when they were young again and Armie had known that he wanted her and was adorably clumsy about it. “Okay, okay. I’ll— I’ll be fine. Talk to him.” She doesn’t think he would actively cheat on her.

He nods and turns before she can change her mind, or worse, before he does. The walk to Timmy's room is long and every step he feels anxiety bubbling in his chest. What if she was right, what if he was ruining it? What if he was going to ruin everything, both of them, himself? What is he even doing? Slowly, he lifts his hand to knock on Timmy's door, letting out a sigh as the sound echoes.

Timmy jumps up from his bed in an instant and throws the door open. “Armie.” He’s beaming. “Come in!” He can see that his friend is uncomfortable, nervous but he can’t hide his joy to see him again. He jumps up and wraps his arms around his neck.

Armie gives into the comfort of Timmy's arms, wrapping his own around his waist tightly and breathing him in. He's quiet, holding onto him like he might float away. A part of him feels like he might.

Timmy feels him holding him even tighter and is so ready to give him the comfort he’s looking for. “Hey, it’s okay. No matter what, it’ll be okay.” He promises and rubs his back nuzzling the crook of his neck in return.

Armie sighs against him, tucks his hand into Timmy's hair. "I know you keep saying I can hurt you but fuck don't you dare, don't you dare let me ruin this, ruin you," he says. The reality of the situation is setting in and he feels like everything is teetering, about to spiral out of his control, his reach.

“Ssshhh.” He says. “None of that now.” He knows Armie has come to talk and they will. Just later. “For now, just sit down.” He guides him over to the bed, can feel the hesitation. “Come on, I’m not going to molest you.” Armie seems sheepish at that and sits down. Timmy climbs on the bed behind him. He wants him to relax, to feel good. So, he pulls the arms of the sweater up and starts massaging his shoulders. It’s not ideal with Armie still wearing his shirt but Timmy makes do.

Half of Armie wants to fight Timmy to start talking _now_ , to resolve this _now_ ; but the other side of him wanted nothing more than to pretend this madness isn't happening all around him and allow himself peace of mind for a minute. Timmy had done this on the press tour a few times, and Armie never failed to melt a little at it. "You have to protect your heart, too," he whispers after a moment, unable to stop himself. He worries constantly about accidentally breaking it.

“I’m good.” Timmy assures him and digs his thumbs in a little deeper. His heart is no longer his to hold or protect. But he doesn’t want to burden Armie with this now. He needs to relax so they can talk about this in peace later. He wants to make him forget his problems for a moment. To just be for awhile. He works his hands down Armie’s back pressing his fingers into places that he knows feel good. At the small of his back he pulls his shirt up. “More effective like that.” He mumbles and starts to work his way up to his shoulders again. Feeling Armie become putty in his hands is always an empowering experience. He knows it’s rare for him to hand over control like that.

Armie tries to stay calm, to remember he needs to _talk_ to him, but he can't think of anything except his fingers pressing against him, his shoulders, his spine. His head falls forward with a sigh, leaning into the touch and allowing him to do what he wants. He’s warm and he’s trying to keep peace and he’s _Timmy_ , and Armie regretted already that there would be a point today where he'd have to walk away from the room.

Timmy massages him for a good ten minutes until he’s reduced him to little more than a quiet, pleased purr from time to time. He smiles and wraps his arms around him, lets them dig into his abs too, briefly, before just holding him, back to chest. God he’d missed him. They need to talk soon but for now they can still be in silence and it’s okay.

Armie lifts a hand to cover Timmy's, his thumb rubbing lightly against the space barely exposed by the sweater. It never ceases to amaze him how at home he feels with him, how everything can fall away and it would just be them, being more themselves than anyone else ever gets to see. He rests his head against Timmy's and marvels at the feeling of being held by him, smiling when he thinks of Timmy's insistence to be his protector, and here he is, arms draped over his shoulders, in his own way protecting him. He lifts one of Timmy's hands to his lips and kisses his knuckles before returning it to his torso, fingers still entwined. "Thanks," he whispers, afraid to break the bubble they seem to be in.

“Always.” Timmy mumbles and nuzzles Armie’s neck. He decides he’s not going to start the conversation. They can’t put it off forever but they don’t have to do it right away either. There’s still time. Just borrowed, just a little bit, he doesn’t want to spend it slowly piecing together that Armie leaving her was not an option. Because if he was completely honest he never stood a chance and he’d known that. The past days just seem to have been a dream.

Armie tilts his head to allow him to fit better, his eyes drifting to the corner of the room. His nerves had turned to complete anxiety, but he tries to silence it with the knowledge that this _has_ to be right, it _has_ to be. It feels too good to be anything but right with Timmy. "Will you just..." he pats his hand once. "Lay with me? For just a little while? I kind of just want to hold you," he admits. Through the entire day, all he'd wanted was to be here, with him, reminding himself that this is real and he could have it if he chose to.

"Okay. Of course." Timmy lets go of him so he can shuffle up the bed. He carefully fits himself into the space under his arm. How is he possibly allowed to keep doing this? How does Armie want to hold him, too? It doesn't make sense. So he keeps reminding himself frantically to take everything in, to savour every touch, every word. He can only hope they aren't heading into a disaster. Armie's hand searches out his and entwines their fingers again resting them over his heart. Timmy lets out a shaky breath as he looks at it. The stakes are _too high_ for _everyone_ involved. It would be a miracle if it didn't turn into a disaster…

Armie wants to apologize, for what he's not entirely sure. He knows it won't be tolerated though, so he holds him tighter instead and tries not to think about Elizabeth back in his room, waiting with her accusations and hurt eyes. He turns his body towards Timmy, nudging him to turn as well until his arms can wrap around him and his chest is pressed against Timmy's back. "Is this okay?" he asks quietly at the back of his neck, both about the position they're in emotionally and physically. "I know this is complicated and you don't deserve that, you deserve answers. I'm trying to get them for you," he tells him, nuzzling closer to his neck, his hand resting on one of Timmy's arms.

Timmy nods, shivers a little when Armie's breath tickles his neck. "Okay yeah." He closes his eyes, tries to concentrate on Armie behind him. Although he has his arms wrapped around him Timmy often feels like Armie is looking into another directing while going around with Timmy's heart in his hand. It feels like he's blind and his guide dog has ADHD. He covers Armie's hand with his own and presses the fingers tighter into his arm, wants to fill them holding him and guiding him. Are they though or are they just holding him back because they can?

"I don't want you to doubt ever that you're important to me. You're so fucking important, Timmy," he says, eyes slipping shut when their breathing matches pace, chests rising in time with each other's.  "I'm trying here, I'm sorry about this." He presses his lips against Timmy's shoulder lightly before swiping his thumb over his arm, moving his fingers apart slightly so Timmy's can fall between them.

“Stop.” Timmy whispers. “Stop apologising. Give me something to work with. What you want, what she wants, any plans, anything. There’s no reason to put yourself down in this.” He makes clear. He wonders what Armie is trying to do here holding him and kissing his shoulder while they are trying to talk about his wife, about how to keep a distance between them. He needs some facts. Some certainty.

Suddenly he's too close, his points too valid. Armie rolls away from him, onto his back, his arm that held Timmy lifting to cover his face. "I don't want to hurt you," he says. "Sorry, god, no, I mean," he groans, realizing he's saying all the wrong things as he's saying them. "She thinks this is something I can get out of my system, she thinks she can make me remember why I... Listen, Timmy, I don't know if I love her anymore. Not like I should, anyways. And you know we've been having problems for like, a fucking year now, but it's kind of just all crashing down right now." He tries to think of a way to explain how Elizabeth is handling the situation without inevitably causing Timmy to grow insecure, and realizes he would just have to be quiet about that. He knows Timmy has some issues with abandonment, though he doesn’t really talk about it, and he doesn’t want him to shut down at the mere thought of Elizabeth trying to win Armie back.

Timmy turns on his side so he can look at Armie while they are having this conversation at least. The many things he’s not saying, that he’s trying to hide like the edge of a knife are telling. “That’s because of me right? That it’s spiraling?” He asks. “Because I told you and now you are acting differently and she’s picking up on it.” He points out. “I never should’ve said anything. It was a moment of such emotional weakness.” He admits. Confessing it had not been worth it, he thinks and it hurts most of all. He can see Armie opening his mouth to reply but stops him. “Before you say anything. Right now I appreciate honesty more than any protection you think is necessary.”

"It's not because of what you said," Armie says, lowering his arm to look at him. He touches his chin, his finger dragging lightly at his lip before resting on his own chest. "It's because of what I said. It's because I _kissed_ you, because I love you. She can see my mind's elsewhere and it worries her." He looks back up at the ceiling, remembering the jog this morning and how it had felt nice to slip back into habits with her, yet how desperately he'd wanted to share it with Timmy. He doesn't know when it all got so messy.

Timmy watches him think and although his face is far less expressive Timmy prides himself on being able to read him okay enough these days. Enough anyway to see his confusion. He had kissed Timmy and told him he loves him but Liz is still on his mind. He hasn’t given her up or seems enthusiastic about doing so. “You’re in love with her, too.” Timmy reminds him. The touches are teasing and never quite enough but always self-indulgent. “I just—it doesn’t seem like you are certain about anything at the moment.” Timmy admits. And his stakes are so high his heart already about to tear. Because it’s easy, good, probably even right for him to stay with her.

"No," Armie starts panicking. "I don't—I'm not _in love_ with her, I just, she's, I'm not in love with her. Please, _please_ believe me. Things are up in the air, it's just..." he shakes his head and wishes he could make him understand. "I'm in love with you," he says, getting more emotional with each time he speaks those words. He places his hand on Timmy's face and repeats it, " _I'm in love with you_ ," because it still doesn't feel real to be saying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Looking forward, chapter 10 is... well, you'll see. Let us know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's rated m, yall

Timmy’s eyes widen as he hears Armie say it. “You are?” He whispers disbelieving and turns to nuzzle into the palm of his hand. “You’re in love with me.” He repeats feeling his cheeks heat up with joy. It’s a rash decision then to lean up and pull him down to kiss him. _He’s in love with me_. Timmy thinks but notices after a moment that Armie is not responding. He’s just- sitting there. Timmy pulls away, irritated. “Sorry, I just—uh...”

Armie watches him go from bliss to confusion to frustration in a matter of seconds and feels incredibly guilty all over again. He has no idea how to properly convey to Timmy that despite being in love with him, despite wanting to run away, to _be_ with him, cheating was still something that made him anxious. "No, don't apologize, I know I'm giving you shit signals here. I'm fucking sorry, I want this, I want to kiss you," he says, almost as if convincing himself that it's _okay_ to want to kiss him. Because dammit, he _does_.

“Yeah right,” Timmy says, and it ends up sounding more bitter than he had intended. He moves back so he can lean against the headboard. _In love with him. Yeah sure_. He doesn’t want to think Armie would just say these things but _damn, it hurts_.  “I sense a but coming at the end of this sentence. Go ahead.” _Hurt me all you want._

He's withdrawing and Armie knows it, knows that there is only a small window of opportunity with him that would close if he wasn't careful. "I want," he leans forward, pressing his head against Timmy's. "To kiss," his hands frame his face, his heart beating out of his chest. _Don't fuck this up_ , he keeps telling himself. " _You_." He presses his lips against Timmy's gently, trying to show him he wants this, that he wants him, that everything that is going on was making him crazy and confused but at least this, at least holding him, _that_ felt right.

Timmy reaches up and grabs his elbows. His heart is dancing in his chest, but he knows better than to hope, to get too carried away. The kiss is very sweet and he can’t help but lean into it, savoring the sweet touch of their lips. But he remembers quite clearly what had happened just seconds before and this is just Armie trying to keep him so he gently pushes him back. “No, don’t—" There’s nothing he can say that can make it better. He’s certainly not going to wait for him when Armie tells him that it’s not working out. He would destroy himself with that. “Please don’t- play with me. Don’t hold me if it’s always an arm-length away.”

Armie falls back on the bed with his head shaking. "What do you want from me? Do you want me to leave? Is that it? Because I can go, if that's going to make you happy. I'll go. I don't want to do this, I don't want to fight and it feels like that's where we're going and god, Timmy, I can't, not you too," he says his voice growing softer. "Look," he rests his hands over his chest and glances at Timmy. "About tonight, I want you to be there. Everyone's going to go out and I don't want to do that without you."

Timmy bites his lip and nods. He realises he has to be an adult about this no matter how much it hurts. He doesn’t want to hurt Armie. Never. “Yes, of course, I’m coming with you. I- I don’t want to fight either. Let’s just- friends?” He asks quietly and then, after a moment, “Tregua?” He extends his hand for him to shake.

 _Friends_. Right, of course. _Friends_. The air doesn't leave Armie's lungs as much as it simply disappears, his body seizing and relaxing into the bed simultaneously, his arms heavy and light, head cloudy and clear, a mix of contradictions that boil down to _we're in love, but we're friends_. Is this it, then? Is this the moment it dissolved? Would he allow him to hold him again? "If that's what you want," he whispers. "Tonight, just so you know, she might be weird. So pull me aside, sit next to me.  Or ignore me, I don't know. Do whatever to keep yourself sane, okay? I appreciate you going." Armie knew, he understood that they would never be just friends, but hearing Timmy say it still stung enough that he knew it would continue to sting until he took it back. Whenever that was, _if_ that ever happened.

Timmy lets his hand fall to the bed. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks for the warning.” He draws his knees up and wraps his arms around them. Only now he realises he’s still wearing Armie’s sweater. It’s too much suddenly. He can’t have him all around him if they’re just friends. Even though Armie is still here and sees him he jumps up and walks over to pull a fresh shirt out of the wardrobe. He pulls his sweater over his head but then hesitates. The fabric familiar in his hands and letting it go is suddenly no option either. He looks up and in the mirror in which he can see Armie.

 _Please don't do this_ , Armie wants to yell, though his voice is caught in his throat as he watches Timmy. He shakes his head slowly, finding his eyes. The sweater is a lifeline, it's everything Armie told him the night of the Oscars. "You regret it, don't you? Telling me you loved me," he whispers, his eyes dropping to the sweater. He can feel the familiar dull ache in his chest starting to take over. He is glad they are drinking later, he would need it, god he needs it now.

Timmy feels his heart clench in his chest. “Yes.” He says quietly. It had made everything so complicated. He likes to think it would’ve been better if he’d just suffered in silence. That he’d managed to get over it eventually. He looks down at the sweater. _Maybe, in another life_. He lifts his arms and the sweater falls back over his body.

Armie feels the tears welling up before he even has time to process Timmy pulling the sweater back on. He can't breathe, he can't fucking breathe. Everything feels like it's starting to spin out of vision and suddenly the combination of _yes_ and the sweater being put back on is too much, as if the sweater means nothing, as if _he_ means nothing. "I'm gonna go," he mutters, staring down at his body still on Timmy's bed. He closes his eyes briefly, trying to remember how to force oxygen into his lungs and move his legs. He swallows hard and turns away from him to leave the bed, taking the singular moment he's hidden from view to attempt to compose himself, to remember he knows this is possible, that he'd hurt him so much that it couldn't work. Perhaps he had meant it when he said _friends_. Perhaps that was really all he wants now. Armie stands and bites back the hurt, turning towards him and walking away, his eyes trained on the door.

Timmy watches him, sees the marble mask slide on hiding pain. But that isn’t what he’d meant. Why doesn’t he ask? Why doesn’t he _talk_ to him?! “Are you just going to run away?” He asks. He’s not loud but he knows Armie has heard him very well. His steps falter but he doesn’t turn around. “I regret it because it’s hurting you. You are in so much trouble because of it.” He explains. “But I won’t stop loving you. That’s just not happening in this life.”

Relief floods Armie so fast he can't see, his eyes slipping shut as his hand hovers on the door handle. His shoulders sag and with it, his body against the wall. He glances back at Timmy and feels the emotions bubbling up again, knowing this time he won't be able to hold it back. "I don't want you to have regrets, I don't regret it," he whispers. "Running is just what, it's just what I've done. I don't want to burden you and if it's going to hurt you to be around me then running is easier," he shrugs. He didn't want to admit it, but the way Timmy loved him was foreign and terrifying. He didn't understand that love and sometimes the thought of it slipping away makes him want to run away first.

Timmy walks over to him. There are tears slipping from his eyes showing how much it hurts him. A crack in the mask. “I don’t want you to run away _from_ me. I want you to run away _with_ me.” He says quietly and wipes the tears away carefully. “I’m glad you don’t regret it.” He says and looks down. “Very glad.” He admits then and when he looks up at Armie again there’s a sheepish smile on his face and he reaches for Armie’s hands.

Armie leans a little so he can rest his head against Timmy's, pulling their hands gently behind his back so Timmy would have no choice but to hug him. He doesn't release his hands, though, not yet; he holds him like this, his thumbs against Timmy's palms, his lips at Timmy's hair, breathing him in before the moment is gone. He wants to run away with him too, but there are too many things at stake, not the least of which are his kids. He lets go of Timmy's hands and frames his face, pulling back a few inches to look at him. Sniffling, he lets his hands fall to his jaw, his neck, one moving to lift his chin. He doesn't know how much time they have, but he knows his words keep getting them into trouble. So instead, he presses his lips against Timmy, wondering if he'll pull back again and knowing that even if he did, at least he loves him. At least he still has that.

Timmy is almost grateful that they stop talking. He thought he’d learned from all the movies he’d seen and things had always been so easy once they started talking about it. But it’s much more complicated in real life. So he presses up, meets Armie’s lips eagerly and lets his hands run through his hair. He lets out a needy whine when Armie runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Fingers grip, pull and Timmy gasps. He opens his eyes and looks up at Armie, eyes full of desire. He sees similar want there and with a cocky grin he sticks his tongue out to lick across Armie’s lips teasingly.

Armie lets out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against Timmy. His hands repeat their movement as he kisses him back, kisses away the memory of frustration and tears and Elizabeth, sighing into him, his hands dropping his back to pull him closer when he can't stand the distance. He tries to think back to Italy, how he used to spend his time thinking of new ways to get Timmy to respond to his touch, remembering his eager hands and hot breath. Nothing could intoxicate him more.

Timmy moans into Armie’s mouth as he lets his tongue claim his mouth before fighting back. They get lost in a tangle of tongues, lips, hot breaths and low moans. It’s intoxicating and lets Timmy forget about all their problems that didn’t simply disappear. He is pressed against the wall and Armie is teasing his neck when he has to stop him reluctantly. “You’ll leave a mark.” He warns him. “And I can’t wear a scarf.” He explains. Maybe no one would notice or ask if it was visible on pictures but Elizabeth would and she’d _know_.

Armie moans at the image but knows he's right. God, the looks he got when Timmy showed up with a bruised neck to his party, he had a field day trying to convince his PR team it wasn't his doing, but the memory of Timmy smirking and touching it when Armie asked was still burned into his mind. He trails his lips up to Timmy's ear. "One of these days I'll leave one," he promises, his tongue flicking against the shell of Timmy's ear in the hopes that he'll get a reaction, smirking when Timmy grips his arm. He kisses him again, dragging his lip out with his teeth before chasing it with a soft kiss, his hands pressing against Timmy's hips as he leans his body away from him for a moment to catch his breath.

A hot shiver runs through Timmy’s body as he hears his promise because that’s what it is. He looks up at Armie even sexier than usual with ruffled hair and dilated pupils. He can’t not think about that night. The party and the bruise. He remembers evading Armie’s questions but he can tell him now. “You remember that night? When I had that bruise?” He sees Armie nod and reach up to touch the spot at his neck. “Do you want to know how I got it?” He breathes and stretches his neck. He remembers talking to Brian about it beforehand. It had been embarrassing but he preferred that to being featured on the cover of the gossip sites with a male hooker. He wants to lean up so his mouth is next to Armie’s ear but he’s so damn tall so Timmy does what he’s done before already, too. He steps on Armie’s feet. “I payed him. I told him not to speak more than necessary and I called him Armie.” He whispers into his ear. “I told him to leave a mark. So that whenever I _touch_ it while staring at you across the room I can remember coming with your name on my lips.” He reveals with a hot breath.

"Jesus Christ," Armie mutters, his hands gripping him tighter, his hips pressing Timmy to wall involuntarily. There was no way, had he really been that desperate? He supposes it shouldn't surprise him when he'd thought of Timmy moaning during their rehearsals in Italy more than once to get himself off. "You're lying," he says, because the alternative is too overwhelming. His lips attach to Timmy's neck, sucking for a brief moment before dragging the sweater off his shoulder to leave a mark there instead. He nips at skin and lifts a hand to press against Timmy's chest.

He's suddenly very grateful that the sweater is so big on him and hangs on his neck so loosely. "Am I?" Timmy breathes. "Maybe you should ask Brian-" He hisses when Armie bites down and _sucks_. A breathy moan escapes him. _He marked me,_ he thinks giddily.  "Jealous? He was the one to recommend me someone trustworthy." He explains before Armie loses his mind. Then again, it's hard to remember why that would be such a bad idea.

"Fuck you," he whispers, lifting to press his lips against his hard, his hand going to his hair and pulling. "What was his name?" He's not sure why he cares, if he even does, why this was even having this effect on him when it shouldn't matter. The thought of Timmy with another man and thinking only of him threatened to make him lose what little control he seemed to be holding onto, though. As an afterthought, "Did he kiss you like I do?" he wonders, his lips ghosting Timmy's throat, unsure of who he's really teasing.

Timmy bites his lips. It's unbelievable he has Armie here, that they are having this conversation right now and Armie's lips are teasing him on top of that. "I wouldn't know. I didn't ask. I told him I'm going to call him Armie and he said he had had stranger requests before." He explains and feels a tongue flit out against his adam's apple. It makes him moan breathlessly. "And well- this will sound silly but- I didn't let him kiss me. It would've felt too intimate and- I already knew what you tasted like and I didn't want to be irritated by him being different." He explains and blushes a little.

Armie pauses, trying to focus on his words, on what they mean. He lifts his eyes to Timmy's and brings a hand to his face softly, marveling at how his usually bright irises darkens, how his chest rises and falls with the anticipation of touch. Armie doesn't know why it shocks him, these confessions, but they do in the mere realization of how badly Timmy had wanted him. The bruise was fresh that night he saw him, and he remembers now how compliant Timmy had been to anything and everything that Armie suggested of him. He'd been exhausted, was that the flight or the night before? He followed him around all night and stared him down when they were dancing, the memory of someone else pretending to be Armie probably still on his mind. He tries to shake it off but can't; the more he thinks about Timmy seeking some stranger to satisfy his desire for Armie the more breathless he becomes. He kisses him slowly, almost to reconfirm that Timmy did in fact, and always would, know how Armie kissed and tasted.

Timmy isn't sure whether he would still be standing if it weren't for Armie holding him up. Those changes from hot to soft in a minute are doing things to him. How is he supposed to stay in control when Armie kisses him like he's about to break? Like he's the most precious thing he's ever witnessed? And just minutes before had looked ready to devour him on the spot. All of that is turning his knees into jelly and soon it's only Armie's lips keeping him alive, his hands keeping him upright and his body pressed to his that is filling him with purpose. The kiss lasts forever and when they part to suck in a greedy breath of air they don't stray apart far or for long. Timmy's mind is only filled by him now and how he _tasteskissesfeelstouchesloves_.

Armie hadn't felt like this in a long time, maybe ever—the overwhelming need and love and _home_. He wraps his arms around Timmy's waist and holds him tighter and lets his fingers skim his skin when his grip inadvertently makes the sweater ride up. There were some moments during filming where he'd do this, skim the skin he knew he wasn't supposed to pay attention to, just because it would make Timmy shiver. He realizes with a sigh that he might have wanted him since day one, that perhaps all those moments when he stole touches and instigated rehearsal wrestling were really his instincts trying to tell him something. Perhaps he'd wanted this from the very start, and it just took him awhile to realize how much he needed Timmy in his life.

Timmy whines when Armie's fingers dance across his skin. He needs _more_! Impatiently he pushes up against Armie's hips. The hardness there shouldn't be surprising but is makes him feel heady all the same. He leaves Armie's lips to kiss along his cheek and nip at his jawline. "More." He begs and rolls his hips again. He shouldn't be so willing to get on his knees right away but he can't help himself. It would scare Armie off though, he's sure of it. He still had to be careful, ponder each move out of fear to lose him this time.

Armie moans, unable to stop himself from skating his hands up Timmy's back at the request, the sweater falling to cover his hands as if their touch was as secretive as it ought to be. He leans his head back to allow him to continue kissing, so warm and lightheaded that he doesn't care about the way his fingers dug into Timmy's spine with each press of hips against hips, never enough. He was quickly losing the ability to think clearly about the consequences of his actions, of having to go bar hopping tonight with Timmy and his wife and friends that already suspected too much. How Elizabeth might recognize the look on his face. All this is what he thinks he should be considering, but as Timmy moans against him quietly, he can't think of anything but making him do it again.

Timmy can't believable Armie is still with him, still giving him more than he even ought to have asked for. He knows he's a terrible person for wanting more still. His lips and teeth scatter across Armie's neck before caressing his collarbones. Timmy's hands wander, greedy for skin as well. He pulls a little at Armie's shirt until there's skin and he can feel the soft hair leading down to his groin. His fingers skim along the waistband of Armie's pants teasing in the hope Armie would let him, would enjoy it too much to say no.

And Armie does, but he's nervous. He wants to tell him to stop, to keep going, to do whatever he wants, to let him walk away. He freezes, unsure of what to do, of which path to take. He leans over to rest his head in the crook of Timmy's neck and presses his lips against his skin tentatively, his hands softening at Timmy's back before skating up and down his spine, as if they have a mind of their own.

Timmy kisses his neck, tries to distract him and calm him down. He doesn't want to go too far if Armie doesn't want it but they _are in love_ and they obviously want each other. He has good reasons to assume he might be as ready as Timmy feels at this moments. His fingers dip below the waistband and snake under the rim of the boxers. Hair meets fingertips and he can hear Armie let out a deep breath. Timmy turns his head again, nips at his jawline before skating his tongue over it. Using this distraction he pops the button of the pants open and can suddenly feel his confidence fleeing him as well. Yes, he's done this before but it never meant _this much_. With a shaky hand he pulls the zipper down now, determined to at least get Armie off with a sloppy handjob. He can see the outline of his hard cock through the fabric and his mouth waters, his heart starting to beat even faster. Again his hand wanders to the rim of the boxers and dips in. This time he can reach his cock though and closes his hand around it. He remembers gripping it through his pants repeatedly for a scene on the berm. He'd felt big back then but to have it fully erect in his hand is overwhelming nonetheless.

Armie knows what he's doing, how he's trying to distract him, ease him into this. He's never felt younger with Timmy than this moment, out of his element when he is so clearly in his. The feeling of Timmy holding him is overwhelming and his hands fall from Timmy's back to his hips, gripping him tightly. He keeps his face hidden, his breathing staggered and labored against Timmy's neck, his mouth going dry. He leans into the touch, telling himself to just let go, a series of small sounds escaping his lips though he's too far gone to care how desperate he sounds.

Armie's sounds are doing things to Timmy and the fact he hasn't tried anything to make him stop. He pulls boxers and pants down a little so he can get his cock out fully. He staggers a little under the weight of both of them but finds support at the wall. _He's here, he trusts me, he wants me_. It all drives Timmy a little crazy as he’s desperately trying to get this right. He knows Armie has little to no personal experience here so he's trusting Timmy to show him the way. He spits in his palm before tentatively stroking him for the first time. He had no small hand and never before had he so much flesh and skin to work with. He tries to memorise every little sound and movement Armie makes in response with the little blood that's left in his brain.

"Oh god." Armie's hand lifts to Timmy's hair, his breathing erratic as he pulls, almost in retaliation, almost instinct. He draws his lips up Timmy's throat until they ghost his chin, meeting his lips in a searing kiss that ends in a moan, his eyes glancing down at Timmy's hand and losing control of his facade. He swears under his breath and rests his forehead against Timmy's, _Please don't stop_ , escaping before he can tell his mind to settle down. In a rush of lust, he trails his own hand down Timmy's body, resting against his erection and swearing again, the feeling overwhelming. He hadn't felt him hard against him since Italy, and even then they never talked about it aside from a short _it happens_ conversation. He is allowed to touch this time, though, and knowing that combined with Timmy's fingers around him is enough to make him whine Timmy's name.

Goosebumps cover his body instantly. _Tim_. "Armie." Timmy answers and pushes his hips a little into his hand, all pretenses of him being in any sort of control failing. He tightens his grip slightly and when he reaches the hand, swipes his thumb over the slit. There's a shaky moan and it's entirely too loud, Timmy thinks for a second. She's far enough away though. It shouldn't be a problem. "Please, Armie. Touch me." He begs looking at him through his lashes.

Armie nods quickly at the request and looks in Timmy's eyes, his hands shaking like a sixteen-year-old boy might. He tries to keep his eyes open, his breathing steady, but both are difficult as Timmy continues to touch him like _that_. His fingers fumble with the button of Timmy's jeans, then the zipper. He raises one hand to hold Timmy's face, his lips pressing firmly against his jaw as he lowers his hand into Timmy's pants, under his boxers, his eyes fluttering shut. A chill runs through him with a shaky moan as he bucks into Timmy's hand slightly.

 _Oh Goooood_. Timmy thinks letting out a broken gasp. This is too much. He feels like he might come every second and wouldn't that be embarrassing? He stills all of his movements and tries to focus on getting air into his lungs. He manages quite well until Armie moves his hand. He doesn't come right away but it's close. "Wait, wait." He says panicked. Thankfully Armie stops but he also pulls his hands off and that is not what Timmy had wanted. He whines and shakes his head. "No, no- I just- It's a little bit much. You'll have to go slow." He explains and starts moving his own hand again to make up the inconvenience. Surely, it would be much harder to bring Armie off. He flicks his thumb over the head again spreading the pre-cum.

Armie moans against him, his head falling against Timmy as he bucks against him again, unable to stop himself. "Do that again," he whispers, almost whines, into his skin. Shaking, he returns his hand to Timmy, _go slow_ , he thinks. He doesn't know how he's doing this, managing to _go slow_ ; he is losing his mind and going slow with Timmy does not feel like an option when his hands are around him. "Please." He lets his hand mirror Timmy's actions, trying to keep himself steady by gripping Timmy's arm with his free hand. He tightens his grip slightly on Timmy's cock, wondering how much is too much, thinking the broken moan that leaves his lips is probably a good sign.

Timmy can barely hold it together anymore. He flicks his thumb over the tip again, pleased with the shutter that runs through Armie's body. He stops at the base of his cock then, Armie mirroring his position. He nudges his head up and captures his lips again. How had they gotten here? Hadn't Armie been hesitant to make out with him at all? Timmy craves more although he feels like he is about to explode so he steps closer and pushes his hips up against Armie's. "Together." He whispers in the air between them that seems to be drained of oxygen.

Armie nods quickly, not trusting his voice, and strokes Timmy again in time with his hand. He rests his forehead against his and tries to keep his eyes open to memorize his face, though all he really wants is to close them tight. "God—Timmy—I," he can't find his words, everything overwhelming him at once. How had it never felt like this? How has he never felt this connection in this way before? It’s like everything is being stitched together and torn apart all at once, like the only person he could ever possibly love again is standing in front of him, holding him, caring for him. There's nothing but Timmy as he nears his climax, and he knows he's close too, can tell by the way his breathing is uneven and his hand growing sloppy. "I love you, I love you," Armie chants; nothing else could possible describe what he feels than love, so it's all he says, all he thinks, until he lets go with a broken moan of Timmy's name.

Timmy doesn't say anything, unwilling to miss any sound Armie makes, any word that he says, he just releases a pressed "Armie," when he comes and then gasps letting the white noise rush over him, waiting, panting into Armie's shoulder. Cum is dripping from their hands and cocks to the ground but they couldn't care less. Slowly it registers he hasn't said anything about Armie's steamy love confessions and he pulls back to look into his face. He's totally undone, just as Timmy feels like. It only intensifies the feeling in his chest. "God, I love you. I love you so goddamn much, you have no idea." He pulls him down for a kiss that's sloppy and more a clash of open mouths but right now feels just perfect.

Armie kisses him back until his breathing starts to taper out and his chest doesn't feel like it'll explode. He lets go of Timmy's cock and lets out an awkward and breathless laugh. He nearly wipes his hand on his jeans before remembering that he has to go back to her, that he has to face her, and doing so with cum stained jeans was _not_ an option. He glances down, dizzy at the sight of them exposed to one another, and looks at his pants for signs. He thinks he might be okay, but worries a little nevertheless. He shouldn't, he knows she'll probably see it all over his face regardless it there are signs on his pants or not. He looks back up at Timmy and smiles, touches his lip with his dry hand, chasing it with his lips soft and innocent against him.

Timmy answers with his own overwhelmed giggle, lets Armie chase his lips for a moment before kissing him properly. They are still in their little bubble but it's about to burst and he knows it. They make out a little breathlessly for a moment longer trying to remember to only use one hand. But eventually the moment comes that they stand there, foreheads pressed together, and Timmy says, "We better clean this up before it dries."

Armie laughs at that and nods, "Yes, yes we probably should." He expected to feel anxiety after something like this but doesn’t feel any about what they'd actually done. He remembers reading _the_ book for the first time and wondering if it would be like that for him, that uncertain nausea that Elio experienced the first time he crossed the line with Oliver. He's relieved it hasn't hit him, at least not yet, and hopes it doesn't happen. He like this moment with Timmy, the giddy post-orgasm bliss that left him breathless and a little more in love than he ever anticipated being. "You have towels or something?" he asks nudging his nose against Timmy's.

Timmy smiles his heart swelling at Armie's light mood. He'd been afraid to be met with regret, maybe even disgust. But Armie is none of that and it makes Timmy fall for him even more. "Sure, I'll get them." He pecks a kiss to Armie's nose and walks to the bathroom where he wets two towels. One he throws on the floor, the other he hands Armie. In the bathroom an overly dopey Timmy had looked at him from the mirror. It's almost ridiculous how happy they are.

As Armie cleans himself up, he tries to enjoy this, to live in this moment, as long as possible. He knows it would come to an end soon and he'd have to walk out the door, go back to her, get ready to spend a night out where he'd have to split his attention. He wants to stay. He wants to slip into Timmy's bed and laugh at stupid jokes and twist and twirl his fingers into his hair and make him breathless again. He has no idea what time it is or how long he's been gone, though, and he'd rather walk away than risk her coming after him. He looks down to hide the thoughts and sees the towel in his hand. He glances up at Timmy through the mirror before turning to him and extending it just as he'd done with Billowy in the film, a small smirk lifting to his lips at the thought.

Timmy rolls his eyes at him but takes the towel before throwing it into the bathtub. Right, the bathtub. He blushes at his memories and turns to his face into Armie's shoulders. He wonders if it's going to be more complicated now that they both are fully dressed again. He loops his arms around Armie's neck and with a happy grin pulls him down for another slow kiss. He hates to think about separating but it would be okay. They managed to have this today and it's only the start of what they can have. They've gotten away with this, so they might get away with Cayman's, too. "I hate to say this but you should probably go. It's already late. We'll see each other downstairs in half an hour anyway." He points out unwilling to let sadness or misery get a grip on them.

"Mmm, okay," Armie hums against him. He lifts his hands to either side of his neck gently and kisses either side before pressing one last kiss against Timmy's lips, lingering for a moment. "I'll see you down there soon." He drops his hands and turns reluctantly, knowing if he allowed himself to look at him any longer he wouldn't be able to walk away. He waits at Timmy's door for a moment to see if he'll follow him, but he doesn't. _Probably best_ , he thinks as he turns the door handle and walks out, trying to mentally prepare himself for what he knows is about to happen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please oh please, give us those comments. we adore them!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to dreamofhorses for editing this for us!! We just don't have the time.

Elizabeth had called her sister and taken a long bath to think about what to do now. Her marriage is falling apart, there's no denying this anymore but that doesn't mean all hope is lost. _Ignore him, that'll make him irritated but don't let him go to him. And try to befriend that Timothée boy since you think he would be one to feel bad about stealing him away from you_. Her sister's words echo in her ears. She pulls on an armory tonight, a red dress, high heels and her hair in a ponytail. Comfortable to fight and still impressive enough. There's a short knock at the door before Armie enters and Elizabeth had really thought she was ready for whatever she'd be faced with but not _that. God, please not that_. She needs mere seconds to notice the way his eyes stay on the floor, his hands are shoved into his pockets. He looks guilty but there's this little tug at the corner of his mouth like he couldn't stop thinking about something pleasing and his whole body is lax and glowing with post-orgasm bliss. She turns on her heels and marches over to him before slapping him across the face. "Aren't you ashamed?" She hisses, only now noticing the tears in her own eyes. "You said you are going to _talk_ with him. I should have known. This is so like you." She's shaking now and she hates it because that's not how she planned this. She is supposed to find with pride! So that there's nothing to be embarrassed about whether she wins or loses.

Armie's reeling trying to process what's happening. He _knew_ she would see it. She'd seen him in this state too many times to not recognize it, but he had still _hoped_ that just maybe he could get away with it, just maybe. He reaches up and touches his face where it still stung, a sigh leaving his lips. Her words run over and over him in his mind, and he tries to hold onto the memory of Timmy laughing and breathless against the wall after they'd come down from the high, but it's slipping away and all that's left is her tears and an eight year marriage shattering at the floor from his bloody hands. "Elizabeth—" he starts, his eyes barely able to look at her. How was he supposed to do this, just destroy their life together? He wanted that life with Timmy but this was the life he _had_ , the life he had to make conscious choices to walk away from. "I didn't—" What, was he going to deny it? Impossible. "It just happened." He turns away from her, terrified of what he'll see when she tries to meet his gaze.

"Fuck you!" Elizabeth seldom becomes blunt but when she does there's a thunderstorm coming for you. "Just happened? Did you drop over and fall into his ass? Did you—did you accidentally shove your cock into your friend's mouth? Should I ask Nick if you happen to have accidentally fucked him, too?" Her voice is loud and there's not enough air for her to talk as fast as she wants to. "Did our marriage just happen, too? Were—were our children an accident as well? It's fine, why don't we try shoving them back where they came from and pretend nothing has happened? Surely, no one would notice!!" She has to stop there and pant in fresh air. "I'm just—I knew there was something between you apparently, you made it pretty clear but I never thought..." Her voice cracks and she clenches her jaw. "I never thought you'd cheat on me." Her voice is quiet now, she's honestly shocked and wants him to understand.

The anxiety of the past couple of days had been building to this moment, he realizes. The moment when she realized what was really going on. Her words sting more than he wants to admit and he has to bite his cheek to keep from shutting down, the pain the only thing keeping absolute apathy away. He usually zoned out when they fought out of sheer self-preservation, but he knows he needs to feel this pain right now. If he was ever going to take the leap with Timmy, he had to be willing to throw this away. He had to be willing to have this fight, perhaps more than once, until everything was settled. He had to be sure, and he was certain that she'd make sure he didn't walk away without having no doubts. "I never did either, I was never that guy," he tells her, turning around and walking towards her. He sees the emotion all over her face and he knows that no matter what had happened between them, and regardless of what happened in the future, he'd spent too many years building a life with her to walk away without a second thought. "I never wanted to hurt you," he tells her. "I never wanted to do this."

"And yet you went ahead and fucking did it." She points out. When he wants to reach out and touch her, she shoves his hands away. "No, don't you dare touch me right now. You have no right!" She steps back to bring some distance between them again. "You are even trying to deny this? You are high as a kite on post-orgasm bliss. Don't you think I know that look on your face? God, you're always so ignorant. It's always you first. Everything is fine as long as Armand Hammer can live his rebellious freak-outs. You know what? It's childish! And embarrassing! There was literally no need to go around official events and wear tracksuits! It's humiliating. You're literally the worst!" She spits in his face.

Armie nods slowly, _so we're jumping straight to the part where everything I've ever done is wrong._ They were fine most of the time, happy even, if you could call it that. They had their routines and their life and their children and they made it work, but when they fought, _they fought_ , and it never ended easily. He wasn't sure they'd had a serious resolution to a fight in months, always just agreeing to walk away and get over it. It worked. For them. "So now my tracksuits are because I wanted to fuck Timmy? Is that what you're saying?" He shakes his head; he knows he shouldn't engage, but he's tired and he doesn't want to do this. "God, you call _me_ ignorant." He walks over to the bed and sits down, stares at the wall, tries to find a way to get out of this fight. "You really want to spend the 20 minutes we have before we leave fighting over this?"

"Since you spent the last two hours frolicking with your lover behind my back, _yes I want to fight because it's my God given right._ You didn't even see the fucking point I was making! Do you think it's great for me to explain to your mother why you have to play gay characters in movies all the time? Do you think it's great when your mother-in-law tells you, your husband's co-star is seducing him?" She asks angrily still upset how they had just left her to deal with Dru after that godforsaken speech. "And don't let me get started on the speech! He was so goddamn obvious about how he feels for you! I felt _sick!_  "She makes clear. Armie had hurt her and she is more than ready to hurt him back. "You are an egoistical, narcissistic and ignorant bastard! I have no idea why agreed to this in the first place! I knew I could've had it better but you were so god damn desperate to marry me and I just didn't want to keep telling you no!" That's not completely true, but mostly.

Somewhere inside him he knows she's just venting, that it's part shock that was saying these things. He knew she felt betrayed and had every right to. He lets her talk, allows her to attack him, knowing he deserved it this time. He could still feel Timmy against him, hear his name being spoken like a prayer. He deserved this. He keeps his eyes away from her and wonders how they got here. He'd liked Timmy since Italy, but it wasn't an intense and desperate love for quite awhile, and even when he'd accepted that he loved him, he still had been able to remember her, at least for the most part. Usually. Unless he was with Timmy, in which case sometimes he'd slip up and be more affectionate to him than necessary. But he'd always been careful with both their hearts. He never thought he'd be here, fighting about Timmy, watching her fall apart along with his marriage. "Are you done?" he asks quietly.

She lets out a short, frustrated scream. “See this is what I’m talking about? You never listen! Because of course Armand Hammer is so fucking above everything. Did you ever think about the fact that your parents only wanted the best for you, too?” She’s gone too far. She notices it within seconds and wants to take it back but somehow she’s also glad it’s out there. “I’m sorry but you have to admit I’m not entirely wrong.” She points out.

He's been trying to remain calm and let her have the necessary meltdown, but he feels sick to his stomach at the mention of them. "Don't you fucking dare." He stands and grabs his coat, turning sharply to face her. "I'm sorry I hurt you, okay, I'm incredibly sorry. That was a shit thing I did to you and when we're both in a better head space we can talk about it. But don't you fucking _dare_ bring what they did to me into this. Don't you dare." He starts walking to the door and pauses, turns back. "And for the record, if you're so goddamn fond of them, you should know the role they played in pushing me to marry you. Because I'll tell you right now, that wasn't just me." He swallows hard and knows the night ahead of them was going to be absolute hell. "Grab your jacket, we're gonna late," he spits at her.

Elizabeth makes a face. She had known this, or at least suspected it, but that doesn’t mean she liked having it thrown at her. He was hurt, she was hurt and she had no idea how they were supposed to stand each other tonight. She takes her jacket and marches past him without even looking at him. “Fine. Good thing I’m so well-behaved with tagging along, right?” she points out in an accusing tone.

Armie doesn't bite, he knows her game too well and that if he engages it'll continue to get louder and he doesn't want that. They walk down the hall and he stops her before they reach the elevator. "I really am sorry, okay? I don't want tonight to be a disaster and I know you don't either. Can we just make it through? Please? And then you can yell at me all you want." He's too aware of his friends that were joining them and how none were terribly shy when it came to asking about tension. It would be an issue if they didn't settle this.

“Oh I don’t plan to yell at you. You’re not worth it.” She says coldly. The plan had been to leave him in the cold and separate him from Timothée and it’s just right. She can’t stand looking at him right now. “I won’t throw a fuss.” The elevator arrives and they get in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting at about this chapter, I made a playlist for us (mostly me lol) to listen to while we wrote the next couple of chapters. If you're interested, here: https://open.spotify.com/user/nizzie23/playlist/19HV4SuJG5Sp6zHA1Bcz5s?si=WrKLjI_GTzS6MFyseVySRA


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, guys. Thanks for the continued support <3  
> (go to tumblr for the spotify links)

Timmy bounds down the stairs, goofy smile on his face. He couldn’t wait to see Armie again. It’s kind of exhilarating to think they got away with this. It’s just how forbidden things are simply more fun.

Armie's quiet as they go down to the lobby, knowing that regardless of what she said, the look on her face told him everything. Her goal for the night just became to make him miserable, and he isn't sure how she'd go about it yet, but he understands that it’s necessary to begin preparing for her mood now. It isn't until the door opens and he sees Timmy that he realizes he should have extended a warning, that this wasn't something he was going to be prepared to deal with. He wonders if Timmy ever considered a scenario where she found out, thinking probably not, he'd been so happy as Armie left his room. Armie swallows the dread building up within his body and looks at Elizabeth, extending his hand for show. She looks at it and walks out of the elevator without another glance, all smiles as they approach their friends.

Timmy turns his head to look where Armie is when hears Elizabeth greet their friends loudly. His smile falters on his face as he sees him shuffle out of the elevator. Something is wrong. He looks from him to Elizabeth’s overly cheerful mood. She— _she knows_ , he realises. He stops dead in his tracks for a moment. God, Armie—he needs to tell him it’s okay. He just starts to make his way to him when he’s wrapped up in Elizabeth’s arms. “Uhm hi,” he sputters, feeling all his blood rushing to his face. He feels embarrassed all of a sudden. _I know how your husband moans._ The thought makes his ears burn and he can’t quite meet her eyes.

Armie knows he has to face this as he walks towards them, his steps sputtering to a stop when he watches her wrap Timmy up in a hug. _So that's her plan_ , he thinks. He'd seen her jealous enough times to know she usually made some show of herself and how little she worried about the competition. He realizes this might be no different, she might try to make Timmy think she didn't worry a bit about whether or not this was serious enough to warrant a response of anything other than sympathy or friendship. He swallows the bile down his throat when Timmy's turns red, knowing he can't react, knowing he can't pull her away from him. He continues walking to his friends and greets them, hesitating slightly when he gets to Timmy.

Timmy bites his lip. “Hey there.” He says and hugs him inhaling the scent that lingers in his shirt. Armie pulls away too quickly and distances himself. He’s unsure how to act around him and Elizabeth so he keeps to safe territory with his friends. Timmy sighs. He will not get to be around Armie much tonight and it frustrates him. On top of that Elizabeth is trying to introduce him to one of the friends. Is she trying to hook them up? It confuses him.

Armie feels like he's on fire with a simple touch from him and knows that it's in part because she knows, in part because he’s sure he still smells like Timmy's cologne and sweat. He waits for everyone to meet and smiles to mask the feelings of discomfort as they leave. Elizabeth is chatting with everyone as if nothing was wrong, business per usual, and it makes him sick. He never understood how they could fight and she could pretend everything was A-OK five minutes later; it was a talent, really. He'd picked up on it over the years for the most part, but bigger fights that held more gravity were impossible for him to mask completely. He glances at Timmy and tries to convey how sorry he is with a single look, wishing he could do more.

Timmy holds his gaze. She knows but what now? What the hell is he supposed to do about that? He thinks it might be even easier if she was angry. And yet she’s here touching his shoulder to get his attention. He doesn’t bother but wants to walk away to join the circle Armie’s standing in. Her hand clutches his shirt tightly and holds him at her side. He sends Armie a gaze that speaks of his desperation before he has to turn to join the conversation. He’s afraid that their glances are going to be the only things they can exchange tonight.

Armie sees her grip on Timmy and wonders if she’s aware that it wasn't just sex, that it was something far deeper, that he and Timmy wanted from each other. The group leaves the hotel and he finds himself caught between wanting to match pace with Timmy and avoid him, knowing both options would both soothe one form of tension and aggravate another. He decides to let the flow of the group take him, desperate for that drink he's being promised, hopeless in the thought that he might not get to speak with Timmy at all.

They go to eat first and she makes sure they don’t sit next to each other. It’s annoying Timmy more with each second. He just wants to swap a few words with Armie—they’re still friends! And it’s not like they are going to make out in front of everyone! When the food arrives, Timmy is not feeling like eating. His stomach clenches whenever he looks over to Armie who’s so good at pretending everything is fine. He just shoves his food around the plate until he gives up and turns his attention back to the others. He listens mostly trying to understand Armie’s friends and picks those out who are Elizabeth’s only. He wants to have this with Armie. Meeting up with friends of both of them, eating, laughing. But he wants so much these days.

Armie downs beer like water and wishes he had something more substantial. He can tell Timmy's distressed but isn't sure anyone else picks up on it, anyone else except Elizabeth, who seems too pleased for his liking. She catches his eye and smiles, reaching out to pat his hand in such a way that would look affectionate to anyone who didn't know. He withdraws carefully, growing more frustrated by the minute. If she was trying to make it easy to remember why their marriage had more cracks than a Renaissance painting, she was succeeding. He ignores her side of the table, even though it means ignoring Timmy, simply out of self-preservation. If he looks at her any longer he might start yelling, and he couldn't do that.

Another round of drinks comes in and Elizabeth gets him to take a selfie. Timmy does his trademark sign but can’t bring himself to look really invested. He’s surprised when his phone chimes and he sees she sent him the picture. It feels like she’s rubbing salt into an open wound and Timmy hates he’s reacting in the way she wants to so he decides to do something unpredictable and post it on his IG. He’s musing the caption for a long morning. He sticks with “last” in the end. It was too cryptic for anyone to really pick up on it and far too vague to mean anything definite anyway. _Last woman Armie loved._ This is also the last thing he’d expected he’d have to deal with. He notices a picture of Armie in his gallery then that he had taken earlier. She’s not in the picture. Just him and the way he lights a cigarette of a friend. He remembers the scene in _Call Me By Your Name_ in which Oliver did the same for Elio. He wants to tell Armie but knows he had to do it in a way no one would pick up on it. Stevens had been the one to get them cigarettes Armie actually liked after he’d complained long enough that he never would give his lover something like that. So he types ‘Stevens + Italy’ and posts it. It’s still blatantly obvious to him the way he’d paid attention to Armie in that moment. But it’s better than to just post that goddamn selfie.

Armie isn't even certain of how many places they've been when he realizes he's a bit drunker than he normally got with them, that his wife has stopped the passive aggressive glances in favor of loud laughter and coy smirks, that Timmy appears resigned. He determines he'll sit next to him at the next bar, he'll make the look on his face go away, if only for a moment. Elizabeth makes eye contact with him and he fears she'll see his mind working like gears turning in a watch trying to set time back. But she looks away and laughs at something he hasn't heard, and his eyes have a chance to return to Timmy. When they stumble out of the bar, someone shouting _next stop!_ , he acts as though he's tripped over something in order to fall towards Timmy, gripping his arm for "support," eyes meeting eyes in a way that makes him nearly lose his balance for real. He releases Timmy when he's satisfied he understands the move was on purpose, and takes a step away to prevent suspicious eyes and drunk logic from calling him out.

Timmy understands that this isn’t easy for Armie but it still feels terrible if you are ignored when you’d expected to have a nice evening. All he’d been allowed to do was watch as Armie got drunk and drunker and now apparently drunk enough to act on his want to be close to him again. It means Timmy will have to be the one to look out for them so that they don’t overstep a line. It means wary glances and suspicion again and he’s just so exhausted he doesn’t want to deal with it. “What do you want?” he asks quietly and can’t even bring himself to be angry because well, fuck. He still loves him and knows he’ll forgive him in a second as soon as their lips are pressed together again.

Armie shrugs, his eyes darting to Elizabeth and sighing out of relief when he sees her engrossed in another conversation. "I want her to stop." He looks back at Timmy and finds he can't meet his eyes very well. "I want you to not look so sad," he adds, kicking at nothing while they walk a few paces behind everyone else.

Timmy shoves his hands in his pockets. So Armie has noticed he’s upset. Good. Let him. It’s petty he realises but can’t bring himself to care. “Well, I can’t control her. And I’ve had a _shit_ night so I can look as sad as I want.” He makes clear and looks into the opposite direction of Armie. He sees the cars drive by and wonders where they are going.

Armie knows he has every right to be upset, hurt, and frustrated. He tells himself that it's better this way for now, that maybe if Timmy felt these things, they could talk about it later. It still stings though to know he's caused so much pain. "I'm sorry. You're right, I'm sorry." He doesn't look at him, afraid he'll see more hurt and try to do something about it. For the first time, he starts to wonder if going to Timmy's room today was a mistake.

Armie is apologising again and Timmy knows he means it which makes it worse. He had no reason to apologise for Timmy’s moodiness. “I get it, okay? There’s no reason to apologise. She did this and honestly I can’t blame her, she’s your _wife_. You’re not to blame either. What would’ve happened if you would’ve sat next to me? Touched me? It would’ve been a disaster.” He points out. “So it’s nobody’s fault. Okay. Maybe it’s our fault. Maybe we shouldn’t have done what we did. Maybe we shouldn’t have crossed that line but Armie-“ He touches his elbow quickly to make sure he has his attention. “I wouldn’t want to miss a second of it.”

Armie chases the touch with his own hand, though it lands on his own skin, not Timmy's. He sighs and nods. "I know what you mean." They get pulled into another bar, always another bar, and Armie sees him take a seat across from him instead of next to him. He knows he's right; it's dangerous to want to sit next to him when he's drunk. Especially when he was so determined to be as drunk as possible, almost to erase the memory of Elizabeth playing nice and shooting daggers at him simultaneously.

When a guy comes over and hands Timmy a drink he accepts it. It’s his first tonight and he’d be fine. Besides it’s flattering. He can see the man’s intention clearly and holds him at arm-length. Physically and verbally but he doesn’t send him away. It’s good have a little company. To feel wanted by someone who doesn’t have to hide it. It’s a spur of the moment thing and nothing serious but he can’t bring himself to look at Armie anyway.

If he had, he would see the way everything faded out in Armie's eyes except the drink, the man's smirk, Timmy's cautious smile. Someone might be talking to him, he doesn't know, he can't quite hear anything, _see_ anything, except the two of them. Was this what it was like for him, then? The blind hurt and deep feeling of betrayal, despite having no right to any sort of jealousy? He reaches out to him with his leg, hoping to bump his leg, tear his attention, _anything_ to get him to stop whatever game he was playing. He’s nauseous, which only brings back memories of the night that started all of this when Timmy wiped his mouth and held his hand. He feels Elizabeth slide a hand over his thigh but it barely registers, nothing registers but _him_.

Timmy is surprised when suddenly a foot bumps into his. He thinks it’s an accident at first but it keeps happening. So he looks away and suddenly meets Armie’s eyes. Of course, it’s him. It’s always him. He shouldn’t have a right to do this. This feels like the moment he’d been about to pull the sweater off. He sees the desperation in his eyes and realises again that he lets Armie. _Hurt me all you want._ He’s in too deep and he knows it but he turns back to the guy anyway catches him staring wantonly. “Look.” He says quietly but very firm. “I know what you want and it’s flattering. But I’m actually committed.” It’s a safe word. It’s the truth. He’d committed himself to Armie just not the other way around.

Armie barely hears him over the sound of the bar, and perhaps he only does because he's listening so intently. Though, perhaps he hasn't heard him right at all. He watches as the man makes another pass at Timmy before nodding and walking away. _Committed._ He feels breathless again and leaves his foot against Timmy, desperate for some kind of connection, _anything_. He wasn't sure he'd even remember any of this in the morning, though he didn't think he was _that_ far gone yet. The hand on his thigh tightens and he tears his eyes from Timmy to find her smiling with the coldest eyes he's ever seen. He brushes her hand away and shifts in his seat, guilt washing over him, the more guilt for having it in the first place when he realizes guilt means Timmy is somewhere in his mind, a regret. He bites his lip to keep the frustration from showing and turns away from her and towards his friends, pretending to listen to what they're saying while taking a long swig of his drink.

Timmy turns back to Armie and sees him paying attention to the others again. So now he’s not good enough anymore? Fuck you, he thinks but then takes it back even though he only thought it. He’s glad when more and more people leave and they decide to go back to the hotel. He can’t wait to hole himself up in his room. It’s worse having Armie so close and still not being allowed to reach out. Elizabeth hugs him and Timmy thinks it’s the coldest thing he’s ever felt.

Armie desperately wants to at least hug him goodnight, but even _he_ in his drunken state knows this is not a good idea. He'd been trying to drown out the guilt over how every little thing he does seems to make everything worse, but it didn't work. If he holds him, Timmy would let him but resent him for being hot and cold, and Elizabeth would yell at him until he passed out; if he didn't hold him, Timmy would be hurt and Elizabeth disgustingly satisfied, and she'd _still_ probably yell at him. There was no winning, only hurting, and he'd realized this far too late to do anything substantial about it.

Timmy forces himself to smile at Armie. “Goodnight.” He says quietly before fleeing up the stairs while Elizabeth and him wait for the elevator.

He doesn’t want to be that person. He doesn’t want the first thing he does when he’s in his room to be pulling on the sweater. So he wills himself to take a shower first, brush his teeth, text Pauline. But it’s taunting him from where he left it as he’d pulled on the shirt to go out. When he’d thought they’d be okay. When they’d just stopped—he looks over to the door and nearly starts crying remembering their breathless laughter. He puts his phone and gets up. He doesn’t want to go give in. But as always with Armie things just happened. Random luck. He picks the sweater up and lets himself feel the fabric. He closes his eyes and tries to picture it on Armie again. His bright smile. It actually fits that giant. He thinks about their fantasy, about running away from it all and loving each other without regrets. Tears prickle at his eyes and he brings the sweater up to his face, inhales deeply and then there’s no stopping the tears. He staggers over to the bed and curls on it pressing the fabric to his face so it soaks up his tears.

The ride up in the elevator is excruciatingly quiet, but neither Armie nor Elizabeth is willing to start this drunk and semi-public. It isn't until the door swings shut in their hotel room that Armie braces himself, turning towards her and sagging his shoulders. He deserved to fight, he deserved to have her hate him. He deserved all of it. The look on her face is hard to decipher and he's not sure if he wants to know what she's even thinking at this point. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks reluctantly. Perhaps the alcohol still sloshing in his system would help numb him.

Elizabeth throws her purse on the table and pulls her high heels off. She’s taking her time with it. There’s no reason to hurry. Armie’s squirming but she enjoys it. It feels good to have that power over him after he hurt her like that. “First of all. You’re sleeping on the couch. I can’t bear you sleeping close to me tonight.” She pulls her hair tie out of her hair and shakes it free before looking at him. “I want to know why. So you realised you’re bi thanks to Luca or whatever. I don’t care about that. It’s not an excuse to cheat and you know it. Did you—want a cock? Is this too boring for you now?” she asks and opens her dress letting it fall to the floor. She doesn’t know if she even wants to sleep with him. But she’s fed up and she has to do something.

Armie looks away and shakes his head. "It's not about that." It would be easier, he realizes, to just let her think he had to get it out of his system, though. It would be easier than telling her that while he was supposed to be choosing her every day, he was choosing someone else. "We _were_ talking and we just, we kissed, okay? I'm sorry. Then it just... It got out of hand. I don't know what you want from me," he admits, glancing back at her and immediately regretting it. He moves to sit down on the couch, and tries to keep his eyes on the floor, his mind off Timmy.

"I don't want to hear _what_ you did. God forbid, it's the very last thing I want." She says and undresses completely before slipping into her pajamas. "I just—I don't understand." She says and feels more tired than she had expected. "Maybe things weren't perfect between us but they were _fine_ , weren't they?" she asks and pats over to sit next to him.

"Were you really happy with _fine_?" He's not sure he'd be so bold if he didn't still feel the effect of alcohol. "Is that any way to live?" The question isn't necessarily pointed at Elizabeth; it's at the both of them, at everyone involved. "It was okay, you're right—I mean it worked, we were fine, but it just felt...I don't know, Elizabeth. Some days I feel like I might still be in love with you and then the next I don't even recognize your voice. Can you really tell me it's any different for you?" He meets her eyes and feels himself sober significantly until he’s just tired and emotional and frustrated.

She shrugs. “But isn’t that what life is like? Of course you get used to each other, the everyday life sets in. Not every day of your life is a fucking party.” She scolds him. “Some people actually grow up and learn to make compromises, you know?” She points out and draws her legs up to her chest.

"You say that as if I haven't been making compromises for eight years." He shakes his head at the notion. She always did this, and it always worked—guilt him into seeing her side of things. He didn't want to cave this time, though. He wanted to be strong for Timmy, for what they had; caving meant hurting him even more. "I know I'm younger than you but god, aren't we past this by now?"

She snorts and shakes her head. "We would be if you wouldn't always act like an 8-year-old. My God, you're 32, you should be able to talk to your own mom! It's not like she ever beat you up or anything." There are so many things she finds annoying about Armie but had dealt with. Whenever Armie acted like he's the victim in this relationship she can't stop herself. "Or literally every time you pick an unnecessary fight on Twitter. Literally any time you feel like you now **need** to break a taboo. You are an adult, you are a father. When will you finally start thinking like one, too? And now this episode?" She shakes her head.

"Woah, woah, okay _hold on,_ " he stands, turning towards her. He takes a series of deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. How dare she accuse him of this? "I _am_ thinking like a father. Excuse me for giving a fuck about the world our kids are growing up in! Excuse me for fucking caring! For having a fucking opinion and using my voice instead of, what, _deleting_ instagram comments when they bother you? No, you're right, you're 100% right—I should just be quiet. That's what you fucking want, isn't it? For me to play nice with everyone and shut up?"

“It wouldn’t hurt for you to do it! You don’t have to pick _every single fight_! You can make statements but do it after you asked your PR agent! Think about how you’re going to do it instead of throwing out a bitter tweet at four in the morning! Be diplomatic for once in your fucking life!” She shouts back.

"You know fake it sounds when I use her? I'd get put on blast just for doing that, you think the public wouldn't notice? Is this what you're really pissed about? My fucking _image?_ Let me worry about how I'm being seen." He can't believe this. He honestly would never have imagined that a fight about cheating would become this. Fighting about PR? What a joke.

She pushes herself up to stand as well not able to bear him towering over her any longer. “There are _a lot of things_ I’m really pissed about but for your information, yes, this is one of them!” She yells. “Don’t you realise it reflects on all of us? But fine, okay you don’t want to talk about that then fine. Let’s talk about how you see this working out when you sometimes get sidetracked by fucking your friends.” She spits and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Friend! Singular! God, it's not like I fucked every guy we know!" He's angry and he's lashing out, he knows this but can't seem to stop. He rarely allowed himself to fight with her for real, always afraid of shattering what they had left. Though, he sees the words sink into her like anchors and regrets it immediately. _Timmy isn't just some friend,_ he reminds himself, realizing without knowing he's already played into her hand. "I know it reflects on you. I'm sorry, okay? I'm fucking sorry that I can't do anything in my goddamn life without it reflecting on you." How did the fight become _this_ mess?

Her eyes narrow. "This is not just about me. Do you know what would happen if you'd pull this through and be with him? Kids are cruel. No matter what school we send them to, no matter how far away we move. They are always going to be the kids of that guy who cheated on his wife with his co-star." She's speaking slow knowing their children are his ultimate weakness. He'd do anything for them. "What kind of friend is Timothée really to want this for your children?" She finishes her little speech. Hook. Line. Sinker.

"He doesn't." Timmy wanted what was best for everyone, even if it meant getting hurt himself. "He doesn't want that," he repeats with a little less intensity. "If you think I'd ever do something to intentionally hurt them—" he shakes his head. "I'm not doing this on fucking purpose, okay? I didn't choose to feel this way, I didn't _choose_ to like him this much." A deep breath does nothing to steady him. "I'm not _trying_ to hurt anyone."

"When will you finally understand that trying and not wanting stuff is not helping anybody? Besides I can't see you trying very hard." She makes clear. "And how do you know he doesn't want just that or rather that he's more than willing to let this happen to get you?" She asks accusingly.

"No. He's not like that," he insists, shaking his head. "You don't fucking know him." He's trying like hell not to let her get to him, to keep her words from hurting him. He knew Timmy had been in love with him since Italy, though—that was a long time to wait. And now Armie felt like he was hot and cold, that had to frustrate Timmy— _No._ Timmy isn't like that, he tells himself again.

"And you do huh?" She asks accusingly. "You did this movie together and he got clingy. You saw each other a couple of times after that, always because he pushed you. I don't know, Armie. I'd be more careful in your place. I wouldn't let this destroy everything you built. It'd be convenient for him to have access to your money, right? He could go on and donate more salaries to keep his good boy image after breaking up a marriage." His resolve is crumbling and she can see it. She knows him too well not to. They rarely had fights like this, most times not even wanting to spend their energy on it. "What did he tell you? That he loves you? You utter _fool_."

 _No, she's wrong,_ he tells himself, holding onto the words like a lifeline. "He's not like that," he says again, looking away from her. He can't make her understand, she would never understand. Timmy was _different_ , Timmy would _never_ do those things to him. But—but he couldn't deny that it terrified him to take the leap, he was young and as much as Armie didn't want to think about it, he had no choice but to. What if Timmy got bored? What if he _di_ _d_ destroy everything only to have his own heart broken in the process?

 

He’s repeating the same weak argument, she realises. “Do you really think he loves you? Darling even if he does, his career is going off at the moment. Now it’d still be nice for him to have your support but in a few years? There’ll be no need for him to look at you twice. And we have an age difference between us but you’re ten years apart. You’ll grow old eventually.” She ventures on. Now she just wants him to hurt the way she did when he walked in. And he wants him to see what a mistake it was to go off frolicking with his younger co-star.

"Stop it," he mutters, turning away from her. "Just stop, okay? I get it." He can't listen to another word, his stomach in knots and his head starting to pound. _Water,_ he thinks when he remembers how much he drank. He wanders over to fill a glass without ever looking at her. He pauses before downing it. "I know I'm not good enough for him. I don't need you to remind me. I know he'll move on. So just stop."

She had hoped it would fill her with some sort of satisfaction to see him cave but it doesn’t. “Good then you can leave this game alone I hope. Stop with this madness.” She demands. “Remember where you belong.”

"Please just stop talking. Can we just—can we go to bed, please?" Everything fell on him at once, exhausting him incredibly. He's afraid if he stays up and talks to her that he won't be able to stop a full-on meltdown he won't be able to recover from. As it is, he struggles to remain in slight control of himself. There was too much to consider, too many responsibilities and hearts at stake. He wanted to sleep; he wanted to sleep and not wake up until the problems weren't problems and there was an easier way to do all of this. What he _really_ wanted was to go to his room and crawl into bed behind him and hold him until the demons stopped screaming at him not to. But that wasn't an option. And maybe she right—maybe this was for the best, maybe he _should_ stop before his own heart got cut up with the pieces of those around him.

“Couch for you.” She says firmly. “You have not earned the right to sleep in one bed with me. And this is not over. You can’t just—“ She gestures and makes a face. “And expect everyone else to pick up after you.” She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “I really don’t get what Timothée could want from you except your money and contacts. He has no idea what a handful you are.” She states more quietly to herself.

Armie tries to shake the comment off with the rising feeling of anxiety in his chest as he readies the couch for sleep. When he finally lays down, he stares at the ceiling, replaying her words over and over again despite begging himself to just _sleep_ goddamn it. He can't tell at what point she passes out, _if_ she even does; he's too preoccupied with PR disasters and potential breakups and heartache, so much heartache. He's not sure he can walk away at this point, but he's terrified now not to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **runs away and hides**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LISTEN BEFORE YOU READ THIS I WANT TO SAY IM SORRY OKAY PROCEED

Timmy must’ve passed out at some point. He wakes with his hand still clutching the sweater to his face. He feels exhausted and really wants to see Armie. So he forces himself to reach for his phone and check for messages. None from Armie. _I slept terribly. Can I see you?_ With a sigh he falls back into the covers. He’s not motivated to get up. It feels like too much energy that he just doesn’t have.

Armie wakes in a cold sweat, his heart racing, a dream of waves crashing slipping away faster than he can chase it. He glances at the bed, sees her still sleeping, breathes a sigh of relief. His phone's notification light is blinking—he's afraid to look. He already knows who it is, knows there's nothing he can say to him to make any of this okay. Timmy was the only thing that made sense sometimes, but today he's the only thing that doesn't.

Timmy tries to tell himself to be patient. Armie could still be asleep for all he knows. But then he thinks of Paris where Armie crept into his room after a couple of text messages. He’d warned him that on nights like this he mostly got no sleep at all. But they’d had a deep conversation, Armie showing him to do simple work-outs with stuff you always have handy. Timmy had ended up falling asleep on him but Armie hadn’t minded. So it was unlikely that he was still sleeping.

_I miss you. I’m sorry if you regret us._

_Can we get breakfast together?_

_Lunch?_

_Armie?_

_Answer me. Pls. Anything._

When he finally allowed himself to get up, Armie took a shower and ignored the sound of the TV turning on. The water did nothing to wipe the night from his mind and he suddenly wished that last night he had done another shot, another drink, something, _anything_ to have erased it all from his memory. The steam makes him hazy and he's not certain how long he's been in there—he can't even remember if he's washed his hair or body. There's a knock at the door and his body flinches. "Hello? Come on, don't use all the hot water. Why'd you lock the door?" He turns the water off and dries his body, unlocks the door, walks out. She says something but he doesn't really hear it. They get ready for the day and she tells him what they're doing, but apathy is the only thing that keeps his heart from seizing. He turns his phone on airplane mode at some point after the chime threatens to send him over the edge.

He's never been so aware of his own ability to disengage with the world as he slips a comfortable facade on his face and pretends he's fine; he knows she'd berate him about Timmy some more if he let her see how profoundly he didn't want to talk about it. He couldn't stop her words from seeping into everything he did, what if she was right, what if the source of his anxiety all week was the prospect of being with Timmy, not walking away from Timmy? It was devastating to think Timmy might move on, even worse to think he had misinterpreted his own heart. The day is a nightmare.

After the whole hot and cold game last night, now Armie gives him the cold shoulder. It’s unnerving and Timmy is swaying between angry and heartbroken. He doesn’t know anything because they had no chance to talk. For all he knows he could be about to sign the divorce papers (highly unlikely) or she could’ve made him realise he was just acting on a phase (highly likely) and he never wanted to speak to Timmy again (happening right now). Elizabeth posts a selfie from yesterday in which she kisses Armie’s cheek. He gets the message. He really does.

But he is masochistic enough that he places himself in the lobby bar so he would see them when they pass through. Every time the door opens he turns to look and still is shocked when they walk in, her arm looped through his. But what gets to Timmy is how dead Armie’s eyes look. His heart clenches. What had happened? He can’t stop himself from jumping up then and making a step into their direction. “Armie...?” He says quietly.

Armie's eyes dart up at the sound of his voice and like a worn out sweater, he unravels. The first thing that goes is his breathing; it sputters out and picks up like a helicopter, shredding him from the inside out. Elizabeth's grip tightens on his arm and she not-so-subtly tells him to keep walking. He feels like he's being ripped apart, slowly, piece by piece. "I need to talk to him," he tells her. Her grip tightens. "Please." Timmy watches with hurt eyes. Armie feels his limbs numb. He turns. "He deserves an explanation." She rolls her eyes and walks away, she may say something but it doesn't register. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Armie remembers he needs to keep his breathing steady to avoid breaking. He wants to walk over to him but fears he won't make it to Timmy, and even if he did, he's not sure he could even really talk to him without shattering despite the fact that he _knows_ he has to.

So for a long moment they just stay there, staring at each other across the room. Each of them slowly falling apart by themselves. In a perfect world, they would be able to pick up the pieces, mend each other back together. Some pieces might've gotten mixed up and they wouldn't be the same like before, some pieces of Armie would make Timmy and some pieces would be suddenly be a part of who Armie is but they would've been _whole_ again. This is not that perfect world. Timmy masters the strength in the end to walk towards Armie. He's shaking slightly and only barely resists reaching out to take Armie's hands. "Armie." He says like he needs to learn how to speak it again, as if it hadn't been the only thing on his mind all day. "Talk to me." He pleads.

He shakes his head. "Not here." Armie's afraid he's a word away from ruin and can't stand the thought of breaking in front of the other civilians in the bar and lobby. He swallows and turns towards the elevators, walking slowly, his focus consumed with moving his limbs—when did they become so heavy? He presses the button, his chest tightening as it lights up. Seconds pass like lifetimes in silence until they can walk inside. He watches the door closes and with it, his entire body. He folds his arms over his chest. His knees lock. He can't look at him, his head pounding all around him. He doesn't even know if Timmy's okay, if he's talking, breathing. He wants to sit down so he can focus on pushing and pulling air into his lungs.

Timmy wonders whether Elizabeth would mind? Perhaps she already knew that this was the last conversation they were having? And why did Armie look so—dead. There's not even sadness in his face, not tiredness. He looks like something of him has died and it's scaring Timmy because he's never seen this look on his before. Not when Crema ended, not when he faced his mother, not ever before. When the elevator doors finally close Timmy turns towards him. "I was so worried. You- you just didn't respond to any of my texts. I don't even know what happened yesterday after we split up." Armie doesn't look at him, he's just staring at the wall opposite of him. Timmy frowns and suddenly becomes aware of how loud and fast Armie's breathing is in the small space. "Armie?" He asks carefully and takes a step closer, reaching out to touch him this time.

He flinches at the touch, his arm breaking out in goosebumps and his façade cracking just enough for him to start feeling the weight of the tension between them. For whatever reason, the air is thick and impossible to consume, though he tries and tries and tries and tries to fill his lungs. Elizabeth's voice is in his head telling him Timmy doesn't want anything but his influence and money and it's _wrong_ , he knows it's wrong, but it might be right, what if it's right, what if Timmy is just lying to him when he tells him he's his soulmate, what if, what if, what if. The doors open and he wonders how he's able to move so easily when he felt like he was drowning. He walks out towards Timmy's room, his body resting against the wall when he reaches it, his chest caving in on itself and he has to remind himself that it's just the anxiety and he's not really being consumed by a black hole, that it would pass in time. His hands start shaking in time with his jaw and he swallows the feeling.

Timmy has never seen this happen to Armie before and it's scaring the shit out of him. He fiddles with his keycard and can't get the door open quick enough. When they are finally inside he locks the door and wraps his arms around himself. "Armie. Please talk to me. You're scaring me." His friend is shaking like a leaf in the wind now and Timmy isn't sure what to do. Should he touch him? Would that help? The decision is made when Armie's legs give up and he sinks to the floor in front of Timmy's eyes. "Armie?" Timmy is kneeling next to him in a breath and catching him, wrapping his arms around him and trying to stop him from shaking by pressing him closer to his body.

Armie collapses into him, the contact dissolving any sort of control he had been gripping. Immediately, his throat tightens with his chest and Timmy's smell is everywhere and nowhere and everything that happened the day before is all surrounding them in this little hall by the door. He has to tell him to move, to let him go, to stop holding him like he was afraid he'd leave, and he has to tell him what she said, and he has to tell him he knows it's not working, and he has to stand, and he has to walk away, and he has to say goodbye, and he has to stop caring so much, and he has to stop trying to talk himself out of this, and he has to make his heart stop racing, and he has to stop reliving the sound Timmy made yesterday in that same hall, and he has to tell him he's afraid of not being with him, and he has to tell him he's afraid of _being_ with him, and he has to breathe, he has to stop gripping Timmy's shirt, he has to stop, stop, _stop._

He turns his body towards Timmy, though he's unaware of how. He presses his face against Timmy's neck and his hand against his chest, the other hand lifting to his own. This has to stop, he knows it has to stop—he breathes through his nose when he feels Timmy breathe and focuses on the beat of his heart until his own starts to match pace. When he finally feels like he can catch his breath, he drops his hands into his lap and turns to lean against the wall, his eyes drifting away from Timmy and head falling back. "Sorry," he mutters. He never intended on him seeing him like this.

Timmy's hands feel empty all of a sudden. He’s not even sure what had just happened. Armie is trying to down play this again and he’s going to apologise a thousand times when all Timmy does is care and worry. Timmy realises his hands are still shaking a little, too and he wrings them in his lap. “No, it’s okay, just- Tell me what I can do? I want to help, I just- I feel so helpless right now and I don’t know what to do. Should I stay? Should I go? Do you want something to drink? Can I touch you?” He asks too quickly before shutting himself up. He’s being annoying and not helping at all, he realises. But he needs some hint at what to do. He wants to make it better, so much.

 _Yes._ "Please don't." Armie feels drained and distant, empty almost. "I'm fine," he tells him with a fleeting glance. He stares at his palms and thinks of New York and how he would be in his city all summer long, walking the streets he would surely haunt. He could almost see the boroughs on the lines of his hands, each line a street Timmy wouldn't meet him on. "She knew as soon as I walked in." He's quiet but he fears his own voice and all he can muster up is hushed tones. "It didn't go well."

It hurts Timmy physically to not be allowed to touch him to comfort him. But he wants to respect Armie's decision. If he needs space Timmy doesn’t want to overwhelm him. And there it is again. _I'm fine._ “Did I ever give you the feeling that you have to lie to me? You’re not well- You are the worst I’ve ever seen you to be quite frank. What just happened? Let’s leave her out of this for now because, fuck, this is about you first of all.” _I love you, let me take care of you, I worry._ There are so many things Timmy wants to tell him but is afraid to. “Armie, please don’t lie to me. Tell me, how I can help? If I can. Let me do something... can’t you see this is breaking my heart?” he asks.

Armie's eyes slip shut at some point when he's speaking and he has to remind himself to take even breaths. It feels like something's sitting on his chest and won't move. "I'm just tired," he says, because he _is_ tired, because nothing else feels like it encapsulates what he feels in this moment except _tired_. He realizes the numbing of his emotions might not last and he should say what he needs to say before feeling returns, so he tries to find his voice. "You're going to hate me," he tells him. He bites his lip and turns his hands over on his legs as he carefully stretches them out. He doesn't really feel like he's in his body, but he can feel the stretch and the contrast of absence and presence of feeling in the movement is somehow more important than gauging Timmy's reaction.

Timmy lets out a breath that he hadn’t know he’d been holding. He understands by now that Armie doesn’t think he’s worthy and doesn’t realise Timmy could never hate him. He sighs softly. “Don’t move.” He tells him and vanishes to get the blanket from his bed. “Here. This'll help.” He kneels at his side and carefully wraps it around his shoulders. He rubs his biceps then as if he’d just brought him in from the cold, and maybe he has. “I could never hate you. You should know that now,” he explains softly. He leans forward and gives Armie all the time to move away but he doesn’t even notice so Timmy simply presses a lingering kiss to his forehead as he’d wanted to do. “Never,” he repeats.

Tears start forming in Armie's eyes and he can't bring himself to tell him to stop because this might be the last chance he gets to be like this with him. His lungs drag a shaky breath in and he tries to focus on how the moisture feels when the first tear falls. He's not himself when he turns, and yet he's never been more himself in his entire life than when he presses his lips against Timmy's in a sad excuse for a kiss that reduces him to an emotional bundle of contradicting ideas. He breaks away with a broken and quiet sob when his thoughts become deafening. _Last._ "I can't do this," he cries. "I can't be with you."

Timmy is having no more of it. He can’t stand not holding him when he’s breaking down in front of him. He hates how hollow he feels at Armie's words. It had been coming ever since they'd separated yesterday. “Sssh.” He mumbles. “It’s okay. I know, I know.” He rocks Armie slightly in his arms, strokes his back, breathes in his hair. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think about the fact it’s probably the last time he’s ever going to hold him. Who knows if they ever get to make a sequel with their chemistry in the ruins like this. The tears come unbidden and Timmy doesn’t want to show them to Armie but even with his eyes closed they keep streaming down his cheek. “I know.” He repeats quietly, his fingers twisting into Armie's shirt now. He wants to be strong for Armie but this is ending. It’s all over and he feels his chest giving way to let his heart spill through his ribs into Armie's hands. At least that way he’d have something of him that way.

"I'm sorry." There's nothing he can say and he knows it, but Armie still feels like he has to explain himself. The last time Timmy held him in this hallway, they'd been happier than Armie knew they had a right to be, and now it was catching up to them. "Elizabeth and I talked last night and I just can't, I can't be with you. It's just going to ruin my family and your life and everything." He pulls away from Timmy and takes the blanket off, the kindness suffocating all of a sudden.

“My life?” He asks quietly as he watches Armie distance himself and quickly wipes his eyes. He pushes air out between his lips before settling with his back to the wall and staring up at the ceiling. His life would be pretty much the opposite of ruined if Armie would’ve decided in his favour but he’d known, he had, that this is never going to happen. Armie shouldn’t have started playing with his heart like that in the first place but it had given Timothée memories he could hold onto forever. “What happened to you saying you’re not in love with her anymore? Was that a spur of the moment thing?” He asks quietly and twists his hands into his shirt while he tries to look everywhere but Armie.

Armie shakes his head, shrugs—he feels like he's underwater and sinking fast. "I don't know." He doesn't know anything anymore but empty and cold and tired. He hates it when he gets like this; apathy was his enemy. He tries to fight it but knows the alternative is feeling _too_  much and he doesn't want that either. He doesn't love her, he knows this, but somehow conveying this idea verbally incomprehensible to him.

“You don’t know?” Timmy looks at him now eyes in tears. “You could at least have the decency to be honest with me.” He accuses him. “I’m sorry I made you believe that I’m in love with you. It’s not hard to say.” He spits out feeling an invisible knife twist in his chest. “Come on, say it!” He challenges him.

His words hit Armie like guitar strings struck too hard with the sound reverberating in his chest. He wants to walk away and ignore this, pretend it didn't happen and go back to laughing in his arms yesterday. "Don't make me do that," he shakes his head. "I'm sorry I'm hurting you but I won't say that." He's shocked at how level his voice is when he feels like he's being shaken until there's nothing left but a messy pile of memories and promises. Maybe he should say it, though; perhaps that would make it easier, even if it was a complete lie.

Timmy looks at him with hurt in his eyes. “Yeah sure. How can I want you to admit the truth? Fucking harsh of me I get it.” He lets out a frustrated sound. “Is there anything you have to say to me?” he asks. Anything that isn’t I’m sorry but I can’t. “I would like to be alone if there’s nothing more.” He pushes himself up to stand.

Armie doesn't know what to do; he wants to stay, to prolong the moment and put off the goodbye, but he also knows that what he wanted might not be the best for Timmy. He still can't even decide if he believes Elizabeth's words, but she was so sure and all day she had further impressed the ideas into his head. "I don't want to leave it like this," he tells him. "I don't want to leave you feeling empty." What he means is, _I'm not sure leaving you is the right thing to do, and my anxiety is keeping me from actually deciding._

Timmy doesn’t want the tears but they come anyway. They still cared too much about each other to just walk away. “What else is there left to do?” He asks. “It was—" he draws in a stuttering breath trying to collect himself. “It was good even—even if it only lasted a few hours. It’s— I—I’ll remember,” he admits quietly not sure what he’s trying to achieve exactly but needing Armie to hear it.

His words leave Armie feeling frustrated, angry even, as the wall of apathy starts to break down to the inevitable _goodbye._ "She was right. God, stop being so fucking nice about this." If it was this easy for Timmy to let him go, if the few memories they had were enough for him, how could he ever hold onto him for a lifetime? When this was already enough for him? It was useless, and she had been right—he'd outgrow him, he'd leave him, if he gave him the time. And nothing would hurt more than that.

Timmy clenches his hands into his sweater. He has to force himself not to yell. “Don’t dare bring her into this. I’m sorry but I can’t think about her right now.” He says through clenched teeth. “And I’m trying to be civil. Don’t you think it’s bad enough?” He asks eyes glinting with anger. Everything about Armie’s reaction is fucked up. How dare him want the destruction? Timmy knows he wouldn’t survive it if he’d let go and let out what was inside of him.

"I don't know, man." Armie shakes his head and stands, begins pacing, tries to put feeling back into his limbs. He realizes now that trying not to feel what was happening would make everything worse tonight when he was with her and he was gone—he needed to feel this now so she didn't get this side of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks she doesn't deserve the emotion; it's pushed behind years and years of masks. "How can I not bring her into this? I'm _married._ " It's harsh, he knows. Maybe harsh will hurt enough to make him feel alive.

Oh Timmy knows. He’s very much aware. He’s not sure why Armie is still here though, still saying words that are only making it worse. “It didn’t stop you when you kissed me!” he throws at his head. Armie is stirring them towards the escalation and it’s like Timmy is sitting in the passenger seat, unable to change it. Unable to stop himself from responding and only driving them further forwards.

"No, it didn't," he mutters. _Not you, too, don't you lecture me, too,_ he thinks, but isn't this what he wanted? Brutality and argument so he didn't have to blame himself for walking away? So there would be no other option? "And we fought until I couldn't breathe last night because I didn't let it stop me." He feels like he's _trying_ to feel something important, but all he feels is dull horror. It's as if his words aren't his own and he's watching him destroy his life from the corner of the room. He wants to not feel like Timmy would leave him in a year or two if he stayed, he wants to not have to deal with any of this. He wants to run away to that fantasy island he and Timmy talked about and make their time and words and actions count. But he can't. Because he's in the corner and the real him is looking at Timmy with cold eyes and he wants to scream at him for hurting Timmy like this but he can't even move, paralyzed by what he's doing, what she made him think he needed to do.

Why is Armie telling him this? He doesn’t want to believe that Armie gave him easily, that any of this was easy for him so he’s almost glad they fought. Armie had fought _for_ him. Even if he lost, Timmy is glad to know at least. “I don’t—I don’t know what you want from me?” he says, hugging himself. “I’m the one to lose it all. Why do you have to rub it in?” He asks. _When all I want to do is love you._

"No, _I'm_ the one to lose it all! I'm the one who loses here either way, I'm the one who hurts either way." Armie regrets the words as soon as he says them, and for the first time he feels like he comes back to himself, like he's the one speaking, hurting, leaving. "I didn't—shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." He should leave, he realizes. Everything he said made this worse and he could feel the emptiness of not having Timmy anymore starting to set in and he hated it. He didn't want Timmy to watch him break down again, it would only make it harder to walk away.

Timmy processes for a moment what he said. He feels his heart jump at the thought that Armie may want him just as much. Just _not enough_. He hates the hope, the love he still feels for him. But now—“Wait. Then... why? What made you decide in her favour?” He asks. He needs to know or he’d always wonder.

 _No_. Armie knows Timmy will just try to talk him out of this if he tells him everything. He knows he'll say things that will make him want to stay—a part of Armie wants him to. A part of him desperately wants Timmy to talk him out of this, but the rest of him is too afraid to risk everything. The consequences of choosing him were endless; at least they seemed that way in the moment. He'd have to come out, he'd have to get a divorce, he'd uproot his children's lives, he'd sever ties with more people he could count, he'd face scrutiny in the media—he wasn't ready; it terrified him. "I just don't think this is realistic," he says quietly. Making it reality was too much unknown, too many risks for something—like Elizabeth said—that might not last, might not even be real. If she was right, choosing Timmy would be the worst thing he could possibly do. But of course, he can't tell him any of this. "It's a fantasy."

It’s like a slap across the face. Timmy stumbles backwards and has to catch himself at the wall. He hadn’t expected the pain of Armie telling him his love is nothing more than a fantasy. His heart clenches in his chest and it _hurts_. Timmy’s hand shoots up and he grabs his shirt where his heart is supposed to be. “A fantasy. A dream.” He whispers and remembers their island. The world in which consequences take a backseat. “Of course.” He sinks to the floor unable to look at Armie anymore. “No welcome home then. Just a good morning.” He mumbles. His hand goes into his hair and tugs at it trying to ground himself.

Everything in Armie tells him to take it back, to crawl over to Timmy and tell him he doesn't mean it. Every piece of him that resides in Timmy's soul is being suffocated and he can't do anything about it but watch as Timmy spirals. He _was_ home. Is, home. Without him Armie would be homeless, but he had been for so many years of his life-- he could get used to the feeling again, he could make that his new normal again. The thought alone brings tears to his eyes. He doesn't _want_ it to be normal. Elizabeth's voice is in the back of his head again and he wants to scream, scream loud enough that he won't hear her. He had no idea why she could do this to him, why he allowed her to have this affect. It was torture, always had been, always would be. But still, he can't _not_ believe her. Perhaps there would be a day when her words didn't sink into him like claws and refuse to release until he bought into every syllable. "There's just so much at stake," he offers, trying to explain without explaining, trying not to hate himself for letting her influence his mind, his heart.

Timmy squints up at him but his shape is blurry from the tears so he closes them again. “Yeah. I know I’m not worth it. Losing me is something you can deal with. I get it. No need to rub it in my face that she means more to you than I ever did.” He says and wishes he had the energy to yell it. “Losing me might not be a big risk for you but I don’t think you realise I’m falling into nothing here.” Texas holds nothing for Timmy but the memory of Armie. He’d come here, to Austin, just to be with him and- they’d wanted to fly out on Monday. _Falling is just like flying but with a more permanent destination._ He realises he’d been falling since he’d been trying to apologise at the Oscars. Now the ground came into sight and it shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does.

Armie stays silent. He can't lie to him and say he's right, yet he can't bring himself to tell him how god-awfully wrong he is either.  The truth was, he wasn't certain he _would_ survive losing Timmy. He wasn't certain his heart would keep beating if he wasn't a part of his life—it had been nearly two years since he met him and there hadn't been a single day where he hadn't been consumed by him, at least in thought. How was he to survive not speaking to him? Was Elizabeth wrong? Could she possibly be wrong—could this actually be something he couldn't live without? He'd spent so much time deferring to her opinion, having been told too many times his own didn't matter, that he wasn't sure if she was even right or wrong anymore, what thoughts were his and which were hers. He thinks of telling Timmy all of this, wonders what he would say, if it would help at all. He wonders if he could salvage this, would he be able to end it with Elizabeth? Would he be able to face the consequences of that? He can't breathe and he wants Timmy's arms again but he sees the damage he's already done and knows it's too cruel to ask. He turns away from him and tries to steady his breathing by himself. "Not nothing," he manages. "You have family." He bites his lip to stop it from shaking, to keep himself from saying something that might make it worse.

 _Boom._ Timmy has seen the videos of melons crashing on the asphalt before, how they are completely destroyed and nothing remains but a wet spot and broken pieces of the shell. _And here’s the ground._ It’s cruel. Like anything of it could compare to what he had with Armie. _Soulmate_. How come nature would be so cruel to leave him with someone who has a different soulmate. He wants to scream. He wants to yell the pain away. But he can’t muster up the strength. His finger nails dig into the skin of his underarms. He can’t fucking breathe—"So do you,” he chokes out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY  
> please do not give up on these guys okay? Have faith. Armie's in a bad place rn with a lot of self-doubt and anxiety...


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be a part of this chapter where you're probably going to want to quit on us. Don't. Keep reading, please for the love of God. Keep reading.

_Don't turn. Don't do it._ Armie's body weighs a thousand tons when he hears Timmy's voice crack and the shattered breathing that follows. He's not sure how he stands when the floor has fallen away, not sure how he breathes when his lungs deflate. He's not sure how he manages to exist when he can hear Timmy behind him—he wants to hold him, to heal the both of them in their sorrow until the night would cover them in dreams where they didn't have to think about anything but how the other takes their coffee and which side of the bed they wanted to sleep on tonight. "I'm sorry." He's not sure he hears it, he's not even sure he wants him to. He can feel Timmy's pain as his own, amplifying his heartache until the walls memorize the sound and it's marked on every inch of his skin. The ground is closer than he remembers and suddenly he's sitting down with his head in his hands and his fingers are damp.

Timmy looks up when he hears the dull thud of Armie's knees on the floor. He wants to feel satisfied. He wants to feel some form of happiness for making him hurt as well. But all he feels is more pain and the unstoppable want to make it better. "I want to hate you so bad right now." He admits and yet he scrambles to his knees and crawls over. "You have no idea how much." He says and yet closes his arms around Armie. Yet again he realises how little he's able to stop, to quit Armie.

Turning towards Timmy is instinctual—he doesn't even realize he's done it until his arms are wrapped around him and he's crying into his shoulder. "I'm sorry—" _for hurting you, for crying, for not fighting hard enough, for letting her win._ The list goes on in his mind, useless apologies that change nothing. He feels his body shaking, but he can't tell which of them the movement originates from. Maybe it doesn't even matter; he was Timmy as much as Timmy was him—if one of them was shaking they both were. "Hate me, please hate me. If it makes it easier—hate me." He hates himself, Timmy might as well, too.

Timmy curls around him as tightly as possibly. “I can’t.” He whispers. “It would make things easier but I—no, I can’t.” He presses his face into the crook of his neck, lets his collar soak up the tears. “I told you. It’s not happening in this lifetime.” He continues and wonders why he’s letting Armie know. Why he’s handing him even more power over him. Perhaps because right now Armie doesn’t look like he has any power at all. “I’ll never stop loving you.” He whispers quietly, not sure he wants Armie to hear, not after everything they’d said.

His words should help him stay, comfort him even, but they drown him instead. _What did he tell you? That he loves you? You utter fool._ He pulls away, his chest tightening uncontrollably. He averts his eyes. Maybe she's wrong— _fool_ –she didn't understand— _do you really think he loves you?_ – maybe— _there’ll be no need for him to look at you twice_. Her voice is loud in his ears and he can't make it stop, why won't it stop, just _stop._  He shakes his head but it doesn't stop, only gets louder until he can't even hear his own heart racing. "You say that now." He stands on shaky legs. "I can't do this, I'm losing my mind, I can't—" his voice breaks and he has to wrap his arms around himself to keep his heart from spilling out of him like a broken jar.

Timmy remains on the floor. He looks up at him and wonders if this is him being insecure again. “How often do you need me to repeat it?” he asks. “I know you don’t want to hear it but that doesn’t make it less true.” He has to look away from Armie then and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wishes it would just end now. That Armie would walk out of the door and put an end to the waterfall of hurtful and painful words that kept showering them, but at the same time he’d rather take this forever than lose him completely.

Armie suddenly hates her for putting the idea in his head in the first place. She always did this, she always rubbed his arm and kissed his head and scolded until he believed he was being stupid, acting like a _child_ , fucking everything up. He'd always listened because she was always right, or at least he always believed she was. But this shouldn't hurt this much—it shouldn't feel like he was tearing off a limb to listen to Timmy say these things and not be able to respond. He hates her and he wants to go back in time right fucking now, but he can't. "Just stop it!" He's louder than he means to be and knows it's not really Timmy he's frustrated with, but he can't help it. "It's not going to help you hurt less to sit there and say it, it's just going to keep hurting, and hurting, and fucking hurting."

Armie's words fill Timmy with rage. He may be on the floor. He may have lost his heart. But that doesn't mean he would take this behaviour from him. He pushes himself to his feet. "Don't you think I know this? Do you think it will change anything if I get up and don't say it?!" He pushes Armie against the chest. "You fucking asshole! Running away and keeping silent about things doesn't make them go away. His hands fist in Armie's shirt and he shakes him. "The only difference is that I can admit how I feel! I'm not a coward!"

"Then what the fuck do you want? Do you _want_ me to say it?" _Stop this,_ he tells himself, but he can't. He can't stop the frustration now that he's allowed it to seep into him. He's angry at her for what she's making him do and himself because he realizes now he _didn't_ _have_ _to do this_ even if she said so, and even at Timmy because he's not making this easy. "I love you! Is that what you want? I'm still going to walk out that door!" His chest is heaving, and he feels the tears return as he desperately thinks _take it back you fucking idiot, why did you say that?_

"You know what I want! I want you to be in love with me as much as I'm in love with you! And I don't get why you’re still here. I don't know why you don't walk out of that fucking door since you want that so much!" Timmy's hands tighten in Armie's shirt at the same time, ready to stop him should he try. For a moment all they do is standing there, panting heavy and tears still spilling down their cheeks. Timmy tries to commit his face to memory as best as possible, tries to memorise the blue eyes that are full of desperation and red-rimmed from crying too much, the nose that flares to get enough oxygen into his lungs to keep his heart beating and his cells functioning, his hair that is ruffled from hands running through it, his cheeks that are wet with tears, the beard which had scraped him when they'd kissed yesterday and his lips of course, slightly opened and puffing out air. A rueful smile steals itself on Timmy's lips. From now on he would forever be able to recall this face. "No matter what happens after you walk out of this door. Don't ever doubt. That I love you." His voice is steady when he says it and his tears have run dry. This is not something he regrets. It's just something that is. A fact like the earth circling around the sun, the rain falling down or the grass being green.

The resignation on Timmy's face hurts Armie more than he thought it would. He watches the shift in his eyes and the subtle way his shoulders square off. He sees the calm settle over him and he can't help but wonder if it's a mask, but he was never that great at hiding, and this _too_ hurts. He realizes, with a horrifying sinking feeling, that he wanted him to convince him to stay. He lingered to hear him say those three words one last time, hopeful he'd ask him to choose him instead, desperate for him to admit he didn't want to do this. And yet, through everything, it was Timmy who recovered first, who let go first, and even if he loved him as much as he said he did, it doesn't change anything. Because Armie is still standing there like a statue and Timmy is smiling. The world was no longer on its axis, the air no longer inhabitable. Armie nods slowly, trying to process what he's said but all it really sounds like is _you can go now._ He breaks eye contact and turns his head, his body following slowly like quicksand. There's a pinging sensation running through his shoulders and his mouth is dry as he tries and fails to focus on the door. He's numb again, but this time he doesn't fight it.

Timmy's hands fall to his side. They feel terribly empty all of a sudden. He wants to stop Armie, to scream and beg but he knows it will not help. There has never been a real possibility of them being the endgame. He doesn't say goodbye. He can't bring himself to. It would feel too final. When Armie reaches for the handle he can feel all air leave his lungs. _This is it._ He knows they are too broken to repair this anytime soon. They wouldn't be able to just go back even if they tried. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, please don't leave me." It rushes out of Timothée in one breath. He can't leave without having said it. He can't do this. Any of this. And it _hurts_ because he knows it will change nothing at all.

Like a softened minor chord, Armie's knees buckle, his eyes slip shut, his hands fall and his body sighs forward against the door, all in a singular breath. There's a pressure behind his eyes that makes it hard to open them back up, the numb having already prevented his legs from processing anything other than _stay still_. He remains standing, though his stability is altered in the fragility of Timmy's plea. He can't even shake his head—all energy dissolves as the words come together and fall apart in his mind until they're nothing but a ringing. He drags a shaky breath through his lips and there's a sound somewhere in the room of a choked sob, though it takes longer than it should for him to realize it came from him. Don't leave _me,_ he'd said. Not don't leave—don't leave _me_. It meant something more to Armie, this slight addition, this subtle word that made it impossible to move. The desperation was what he craved, but it's too much for him to handle. He can't look at him, can't bring himself to even say anything, too afraid to try. He doesn't know how long he's stood there, but he feels cold and restless and like if he doesn't move soon he might freeze to death in the absence of his embrace. All he had to do was turn. That's it. If he turned, he could have him—he was sure of it. So why can't he move?

Another shuddering breath leaves Timmy's lungs as he sees him freezing. There's something in Armie that responds to his pleading. Some part of him that does indeed love him like that. Timmy knows that it's not enough though, never enough but his foolish, foolish heart has never tired of hoping before. "Please, Armie. Please." He adds quietly. He wraps his arms around himself and tries to gauge every little movement Armie does. Suddenly there's a sentence in his head and he knows it's cruel but he will never forget the way they'd held each other and confessed that they're each other's home. "Come home." He whispers.

Without any knowledge of how it happens, Armie's fist lifts and connects with the door, his forehead following and resting on it as the sound shakes him. Why was it so important to leave? He's struggling to remember. His breathing is labored as he tries to fight to stay in control of himself. How did people move their bodies? Surely there had to be a way. He thinks of Harper and Ford, of what their lives would look like if he didn't walk away. That was her point, wasn't it? That his selfishness would hurt them. He can't stay here any longer—he knows every second is pulling them closer to the edge, but he wasn't so certain there was anything to catch them once they sputtered off the edifice. He swallows hard and slides his fist down the door, his shoulders shaking as it connects with the door handle and allows the weight of gravity to turn it in his hand. He takes a deep breath though he still feels like he can't properly fill his lungs. Slowly, yet not slow enough, he pulls the door open and stares blankly at the hall. "I'm sorry," he says one last time, his eyes closing briefly to stop from looking over his shoulder. He steps through and releases the handle. He walks until he reaches the elevator, presses the button, and climbs in before it really hits him.

Timmy squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the door close. He hears it though. The final thud before all hope dies. He stumbles over to the bed and realises too late that Armie's sweater was still lying there. He doesn't know how long he lies there. At first, he screams, then he lets his tears run freely again but eventually they dry out and Timmy feels not better at all. He knows only one thing: He has to get away from this. He reaches for his phone and manages to call Brian. He tells him to organise him a plane ticket to New York as soon as possible. _No, please don't ask why. No, I don't want to talk about it._ He sends his mother a warning that he'll need her there tomorrow when he arrives and then he begins to pack. Anything to distract his mind. There's an emptiness that's filling him and it makes him want the pain back. He doesn't want for Armie to mean nothing to him. He just needs to take one look at the sweater on his bed to know that he doesn't. This is just his body trying to cope with the pain. His phone beeps and he knows he's taking an earlier plane out of Austin then. Back home. His heart clenches in his chest.

Armie slides down the wall of the elevator and gives in to what he'd been holding back, a sob ripping through his body. He's not sure how long he stays there, but the doors open and close more than once. He stays until he stops crying and the tears dry and all he feels is empty. Homeless, even. He stands and presses the button on the elevator for his floor and stares at the light until the soft glow distorts all vision. He wonders what they'll do tomorrow, if Timmy will even speak to him, if he'll insist on skipping meals with them. Elizabeth wanted to go shopping tomorrow he thinks, perhaps Timmy would make an excuse. He couldn't imagine Timmy pretending everything was fine. A part of him hopes he'll show up tomorrow anyway, but that thought is distant and heavy and sinks to the bottom of his mind underneath all the chilly apathetic exhaust that's settled over him. When the door opens, he walks through it without thought, walks down the hall, presses his feet against the floor until he's in front of his own door and it's opening fast enough that it slams against the wall. He doesn't flinch, he doesn't care. A _Be careful, what the hell_ registers from somewhere in the room but he ignores it and heads straight for the bathroom. He turns the shower on and locks the door, ignores her knocking, undresses. He climbs into the shower and stands under the water, his eyes slipping shut to let it wash away the memory of tonight. The knocking gets louder and he yells at her to stop. He sinks to his knees when she does, sits down crisscross the best he can in the space as the water falls over him, the cool tub under him sending shivers up his spine that barely register. He watches the water gather in front of him and spiral down the drain like whirlpools and wonders what it would feel like to get caught in a current. The water's heat isn't working for him so he turns it off and climbs out carefully, his limbs sluggish. When he walks out to get dressed, he says, "Don't fucking ask. It's done." He doesn't recognize his voice, but he's not sure he ever really has. He climbs into bed and ignores her until sleep takes him with the promise of feeling something other than nothing when he wakes up.

Timmy wakes when his alarm rings. He stands up, he takes a shower, he gets dressed, he takes his luggage, he puts his headphones on and his music on a blast until it drowns put any other noise. He has a dozen worried messages from his mom and JR asking him when he's coming back because there's this cool exhibit they could go to. Timmy thinks about it for a moment and then decides it's just what he needs. He texts his mom that he's going to explain it later. He agrees to meet up with everyone even as Ansel texts him he's going to bring some hot, interesting dudes. Rage has started to boil in Timothée's gut after having calmed down and he wants to destroy something regardless of the consequences. _Good. I haven't gotten laid in too long._ He texts him back before switching into airplane mode. Painfully enough nearly every song in his playlist reminds him of Armie in some way and it only makes him angrier. He can't wait to get distracted.

Armie stares at the wall when he wakes up for far too long. She stayed on the other side of the bed which he's grateful for, but he feels her stir before too long and the quiet is ruined with the sound of her _good morning._ He doesn't reply so she slides over and presses a hand against his side, her thumb attempting to rub soothing lines. He shrinks away from her and sits up, letting out a sigh. She wants to know what happened, but he shakes his head. "I'm here, that's what counts," he tells her. She seems to accept it and orders room service before checking her phone. He watches her with reserved and removed interest; he still feels like he's treading water and could go under at any moment. She climbs closer to him and wraps her arms around his neck, her lips pressing to his bare shoulder. She tells him she's proud of him and he has to fight the grimace he's sure is sneaking up on his features. When they eat, he's quiet. He checks his phone but doesn’t really expect anything. He checks Instagram, Twitter, anything Timmy might be active on and sighs. Elizabeth suggests something for the day and he nods, not really caring what happened at this point. She tells him to let go and enjoy the short break they had, and he knows she's right. He _should_ let go. He's disappointed when the day continues on and he can't. His mood improves but only in the sense that he feels like an actual human around lunch time after he's accepted that he wouldn't see Timmy today unless by accident. It takes some of the stress away from him, and Elizabeth seems to be babying him enough to keep him afloat, perhaps sensing how close he was to changing his mind.

Timmy notices too late that he's wearing the same shirt he wore on Thursday when he'd given Armie the speech. He's too fake when he greets his friends and too quiet as they walk through the Armory Show. Only slowly he melts again, lets a few genuine smiles come through. There are people who recognise him and he smiles for their cameras and tries not to make their experience of meeting him a nightmare. He lets the current carry him and for a short while it's okay. It's normal and he can breathe a little. He even flirts a little with one of the guys that tag along and don't know him but he's never been good at it and he probably doesn't look very genuine either. He had almost expected some message from Armie pleading them to be friends at least. _Almost._ The day ends though and he goes home, _home to his family_ , and it's like nothing had changed since last night. When his mother opens the door he falls into her arms and starts crying again. He knows she will take care of him, she'll find a way that he can come out of this alive. She always does.

It isn't until Elizabeth shows Armie JR's instagram story that he realizes what's happened. His breath catches and she makes a comment about not realizing he left, and did Armie know? He shakes his head and takes her phone, replaying the story over and over again, Timmy's breathless laugh pulling him apart. He drops her phone and she yells at him, but he doesn't listen. He stands from where they were getting dinner and walks out, his heart racing, his feet acting only under the orders of _leave, **now**_. He tries to escape the feeling of nausea and heartbreak but he can't. He pulls his phone out and searches for JR, playing the story again. God, he looked _happy,_ he looked completely and utterly _unaffected._ When had he even left? ~~i dont even get a fucking made it home safe text~~ he shakes his head, tries again, his fingers shaking over the screen. ~~im sorry~~ , no, still wrong. ~~how was the armory show?~~ , no, wrong. _you left_. he doesn't think that's good either, but he suddenly has to make contact, has to understand, has to know he's okay. He hits send and runs his hands through his hair, tugging at it to try to calm down. He looks around at his surroundings and ignores Elizabeth's call when it lights up his screen. He's walked nearly three blocks and is entirely disoriented. He searches for a street sign and looks towards the direction he came, but can't bring himself to walk back. Not yet.

Nicole makes Timmy tea and soup. She wraps him up in blankets and kisses his head. He tells her everything even the parts she already knew. He talks until his voice is hoarse and she has to make him another tea. He lies in her arms for what feels like hours. Eventually she tells him to get some rest and that things would be looking up in the morning. He doesn't quite believe her but is willing to try. She didn't try to soothe him once with the explanation that he's still young and that there would be others and he's endlessly grateful for that. It brings back the memory of Armie saying that his soul is 80 years old and he can't stop himself from glancing at his phone and lets out a shaky when he sees there's a text from Armie. He contemplates ignoring it but then decides it's too childish. He wants things to be resolved between them. _no reason to stay_ he types out quickly and sends it without thinking much about it.

Armie stares at the screen and feels himself sinking with the words. He deserves them, he knows this. And yet they still hurt. _how was the armory show_ he asks, sending before he can talk himself out of it, his hands shaking worse than necessary as he stuffs the phone into his pocket, trying to convince himself he won't even look at the response if one comes. He hates this, he hates feeling lost, feeling like a piece of himself is missing, and hates himself worst because it's all his fault. His phone vibrates and he takes it out of his pocket too quickly, feeling his entire body deflate when it's just from Elizabeth asking him where he went in all caps. He tells her he'll meet her back at the hotel and goes to sit on the curb.

Timmy jumps faster than he should when his phone vibrates. So he’d seen the pictures. Not surprising but it still makes him excited that Armie looked at a picture for no other reason but to see his face. He keeps the excitement here though. There’s no reason to let Armie know. _good. Good company._ he types after short thinking. The company had been what had really rescued him. He attached a simple smiley to the message. Maybe to take off the passive-aggressive edge to it. _:)_

 _JR?_ Armie wonders, then realizes there were other people. Frantically, he starts looking, his heart stopping when he sees a picture of Timmy with a group of men outside the show. He feels dizzy all of a sudden and has to swallow the jealousy to breathe. He tells himself he has no right to feel anything but relief that Timmy was okay and recovering, but it hurts. It hurts that while he felt half dead all day, Timmy was out with men who probably wanted him, having the time of his life at an art show. He presses the phone against his head and leans forward, trying to settle the pain in his chest. He takes a few steadying breaths and sits up, staring at the screen. _im glad._ he types. He glances up at the street light that's casting a hazy light on the street corner, following the light down to a bar's green neon sign that mixes with the yellow on pavement until the reflection is some sickly hue. He swallows and adds _i worried a little. glad your home safe._ He hits send and regrets it immediately—it was too much, too clingy, too cruel, too _something,_ he was sure. He stands and walks into the bar, orders a whiskey, and downs it. He debates going back to the hotel and orders another drink.

Timmy reads the texts and grits his teeth. How dare him?! He’s angry again. _Good thing it was only a little._ he texts him back and tries not to remember how his arms felt around him as he pulls the blanket tighter around himself. He stares at his phone and then searches Armie. He sees fresh premier pics with her at his side and he’s almost glad he doesn’t look happy.

Armie gets the text as the bartender slides his glass back to him. He opens it as he lifts the glass to his lips, his body going cold when he reads the words and puts their meaning together. His hand tightens and he downs this drink, too, his head falling into his hands as it warms his throat on the way down. _Stupid,_ he thinks. He grabs the phone and nods at the bartender, watching him refill the glass out of the corner of his eye while he types. ~~it was a fucking lot~~ / ~~it was a lie~~ / _trying not to make this worse. sorry. ill stop._ He hits send and nurses the third drink, ignoring another call from Elizabeth. He feels like an idiot.

Timmy lies in bed and studies his text. Should he respond to that? And if so how? Armie is trying to keep some sense of normalcy between them but Timmy doesn’t think he’s ready for that. ~~I miss you~~. ~~Too much.~~ ~~~~I still love you. Who would have thought? Certainly not you. Way over the top and only making things much worse. _gonna take sleep. Exhausted_ he texts in the end and puts his phone away determined not to check it again.

Armie isn't sure he should even respond. He finishes his drink before deciding, opting for a brief _ok.goodnight_ that feels too distant and impersonal. He's not sure anything else will be okay, though. And he desperately wants things to be okay. It occurs to him on the way back to the hotel that he might not be okay for a long while and he reaches for his phone again, almost in a trance. ~~know youre sleeping~~. ~~but i fucking miss~~ He pauses, looks at the phone, sighs. Nothing he could say would make any of this go away. _maybe we can talk tomorrow._ His thumb hovers over send until it goes through, his chest seizing up so hard he has to close his screen and press it to his thigh to stop from another text and another as he arrives at the hotel and goes inside reluctantly, pausing in the lobby.

Timmy glares at his phone when it lights up. How dare it even deliver. But maybe it’s a text from Ansel. Or Pauline. Or anyone else. There are other people in Timmy’s life. They just often seem to take a backseat in comparison to Armie. He sighs and lifts his phone, reads the message in the lock screen. Talk? What is there to talk about. Angry he unlocks his phone and realises too late Armie would now see he’d read the text. He might as well answer it. _Didnt we hurt each other enough?_ he texts back, hitting send before he can change his mind. Their “talking” had done enough damage.

"Hey, can I get a room?" Armie asks the guy behind the counter. He eyes him for a moment, asks him if his current room isn't up to his standards. "Just want another room," he mutters, extending a credit card. "Can you do that?" The guy offers a tight smile and nods. He's in the elevator when the text comes through, and he tells himself he won't care what it says. But then he opens it and he's surprised to learn that even broken glass can shatter twice, his heart twisting in his chest. He walks to his new room with his phone in his hand like a light. He sits on the bed when he's inside and looks around for a moment before returning to his texts. What he really wants to say is "I miss you," or even, "This was a mistake." He can't even type it though, and instead takes longer than necessary to formulate his response. _not talking hurts too._

Timmy still holds his phone in his hands when the texts arrives. He hadn’t noticed just how much time had passed already. He hates that Armie is right. Everything hurts right now. But they can’t just try to continue this after the fallout last night. ~~not my faul~~ Throwing accusations around is not going to help them. _dont try to keep us both. It won’t work_. he texts instead. A warning. He wants Armie to understand this. He’ll have to choose. No, actually he already has. This is why Timmy is here in New York and Armie is with her in Austin. He clutches his phone to his chest and stares up at the ceiling remembering the time they’d strolled through the park and held hands.

While Armie was waiting, he texted Elizabeth that he wasn't coming back but he was safe. And then promptly ignored her call as Timmy replied. He sighs and glances at the vacant room, the bed uninhabited except for the small corner he sits on. He wants his voice suddenly; Timmy's voice always made everything better, the hitch in his breathing, the subtle shifts in emotion, the way it got low when he was sleepy. _i know i know im sorry._ he hits send and stares at his picture, his face going warm. He thinks of _The Chaos of Stars_ and feels his resolve shaking with every second that passes; "In a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you." He sighs and debates whether or not he should stop and go to sleep or try to fix things. It wasn't right to fix it over text—it wasn't right to make it worse, either. He feels a deep and dull ache in his soul that he fears won't leave his body until it's satisfied with Timmy. He walks over to the mini fridge and does a generous shot.

Timmy doesn’t know how often Armie has apologised already. He wonders if he realises it changes nothing and doesn’t make it better at all. “Fucking traitor.” He mumbles but knows Armie is more of a traitor when he’s with him than when he’s with her since that’s where he’s supposed to be. He does miss him though. His voice, his face and it has barely been more than a day. But he can’t call. _arent you with her?_ He asks. She wouldn’t like seeing them already FaceTiming again. She probably wouldn’t even like them texting again already.

Armie's heart skips a beat when he hears the notification, thinking _surely_ Timmy wouldn't allow him any more attention. Then it skips again when he reads it, knowing for the first time in over 24 hours he could tell him something that might _not_ hurt. He swallows and walks to the door, takes a picture of the empty room, and hits send. _got another room. needed space_ he adds.

Timmy’s heart does an involuntary jolt in his chest. He’s feeling things he shouldn’t feel at Armie doing things he isn’t supposed to do. He stares at the pic of the room for a long while. He notices alcohol and else a neat room. No bags, no clothes. He chews on his lip. He knows he shouldn’t. Maybe they shouldn’t talk. Just listen to each other breathe and watch their faces as they fall asleep. He likes that. It wouldn’t make it worse, right? He already misses him anyway. _dont say a word._ he texts, and waits until he’s read it before pressing the call button, heart beating in his throat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright listen haha our editor could have cut that off in a few other places and made it worse, so honestly this was kind i think [yes, kind]  
> This story is far from over, you guys.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone call

Armie walks back to the bed, his heart racing out of his chest, his body suddenly warm. Would this make everything worse? He hits answer as he sits down, tries to slow his breathing, tries to remember Timmy's request—no, demand—not to speak. His face lights up the phone and it's _really fucking difficult_ to not say anything and everything.

Timmy lets out a breath as Armie’s face comes into view. He lets himself stare. Armie looks terrible if he’s being honest but he’s sure he doesn’t look much better. They just stare at each other and Timmy’s thumb comes up to caress the screen. There’s so much he wants to say but he knows it would not make it easier. So it’s better to just keep quiet.

Armie listens to him breathing and tries to match his own exhales so the only sound that registers is them breathing as one. Timmy's red eyes and messy hair make him more emotional than he anticipates, and he wants to tell him how sorry he is about everything and how badly he wants to take it all back...but he knows he can't, for so many reasons, he can't. His eyes start to water as Timmy's eyes wander his screen and he wants to _hold_ him but he's so far and even if he were here, Armie lost the right. A tear slips past his defenses and he wipes it quickly.

Timmy watches him turn away for a moment. Even saying nothing, he realizes, is too much. It takes him awhile to recognise the wetness on his own cheeks come from his tears. But there’s no sound this time except for their wrecked breathing. No sobbing, no yelling, no pleading and no accusations. He bites his lips to keep from crumbling as he watches Armie’s face tears streaming down both their faces now. _Nothing but the fantasy of a world without consequences_.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._ Armie can't stop the tears and the more Timmy cries the worse he gets. _I'm sorry._ He wants things to be different and for this not to hurt and for him to be able to just walk away from her and not care about the consequences. If loving Timmy was the only thing that mattered in this situation, they'd be together right now. He carefully scoots back on the bed and leans against the headboard and pillows, runs a hand through his hair, wipes more tears. _I love you, and I'm sorry._

Timmy doesn’t know whether this is a goodbye or just more destruction. He copies Armie’s motion before he’s aware that he does and can’t help a humourless little chuckle. Two desperate human beings with two much love between them. _Hey, I still love you._ he wants to say but doesn’t. He wants to run a hand through his hair and hold him. He wants so much that he can’t have.

Armie's heart flutters at the sound of his laugh and he clutches the phone tighter. A deep sigh leaves him and his eyes slip shut momentarily as he tries to hold onto the sound a little longer. He didn't even really understand Timmy's goal with this phone call, but he was afraid to ask and break whatever grace he'd granted Armie. A hand runs over his face and he tries to stop crying but every time he looks back at Timmy it's like a reminder of just how far apart they are—emotionally and physically—and yet how close they'd always be.

Timmy sniffles and wipes his own tears away again. “Hey.” He says softly in the end despite his own intention not to speak. Armie’s tears hurt him although he should think he deserves them. His thumb wipes over the screen where he can see them running down his cheek. “We can do this, can’t we?” He mumbles but isn’t so sure himself.

His voice warms Armie from the inside out, thawing him in a way he didn't realize he needed. He's not sure he even comprehends what Timmy's saying, only that he doesn't want him to hang up. The thing is, Armie doesn't want to do _this,_ whatever this was. He wants more. He wants to not care what his family thinks, what might go wrong. He wants to not question himself and their now nonexistent future. "I can't lose you," he whispers, not even bothering to dry his face anymore.

Timmy sighs and rubs his eyes with his free hand. “No, Armie. I can’t do this again. That’s not why I called. You made your decision and I’m not ready to be stuck in a limbo waiting for you to change it.” He makes clear. He’s close to ending the call. He knows he probably should. But he wants to hear that Armie has finally understood. He needs to or this would never end.

Armie's eyes close as his hand lifts in a fist against his chin and lips. He nods. Takes a few stabilizing breaths. Presses his fist harder against his face to stop his lip from trembling. He tries taking a deep breath but falters, his eyes opening and head turning to stare at the wall. It was blank, this off-white color that felt fake and forced, a painting hanging that was surely stuck to the wall with bolts. He wondered how many lives had been lived in this room, how many people would stay here after him, oblivious to the words that pulled his heart out to leave under the bed. He fucked up in a big way, and he knew it. "Then why'd you call?" He's afraid of his answer because it might mean he'll realize there was _no_ reason and hang up. And he desperately wanted him to stay on the line, keep breathing, keep _existing_ in a space where Armie could at least see.

Timmy sighs, runs a hand through his curls. “I—“ he groans lets his head fall back and stares at the ceiling and tries to find out when exactly he’d decided to call and why. “I wanted to see you. I thought if we don’t talk we won’t spiral out of control again and we could just fall asleep hearing the other breathe.” He stops himself because he realises how very desperate that sounds. How can anyone be satisfied with just hearing someone breathe?

The words tumble out of Timmy's mouth in a sort of confession that leaves Armie lightheaded. "Okay," he nods, realizing that hanging up wasn't what Timmy wanted, not unless he'd managed to fuck this up, too. "I can do that." He wants the comfort of knowing Timmy was there, in some small way, just as badly as Timmy wanted him. That alone is enough, or at least, it _could_ be enough for now. Armie knows he's made a mistake but he can't quite bring himself to admit it verbally yet, because admitting it meant he would have to _do_ something about it. And he wanted to be ready, but he just wasn't sure he was. He always admired people who came out to their parents as teenagers. If he was being absolutely honest with himself, he'd thought about it a lot in the past ten years. He'd never do it, he was sure he wouldn't ever need to. And he hadn't really _known_ until Timmy. But then again, maybe he always had. Either way, he isn't ready, and he doesn't want to keep hurting Timmy in the meantime.

Timmy pulls the blanket up around him and looks at Armie for a long while. “Armie.” He mumbles and closes his eyes. “Tell me a story. Something nice.” He requests as he clutches his phone close to hear every little breath just like it would be if he held him close. He knows logically he’ll have to let go of this, too. He can’t just keep requesting stuff of Armie when he’d made his decision against being with him. Perhaps the wound is just still too fresh for them to just stop from one day to the other.

Armie sinks down into the bed and awkwardly pulls at the blankets until he's under them, his head and arm both propped up on pillows. It's almost as if he's here with him, except the bed is cold and smells like laundry detergent instead of him. He thinks of the fairytales Harper liked so much and tries to remember one well enough to tell Timmy, but he stumbles on words and plot and he can't stop himself from laughing a minute in, finding the whole thing a bit disorienting to tell Timmy some silly story. "Sorry, I'm trying to remember—I can start over," he shakes his head, letting out a sigh. He sees the freckles on Timmy's nose when he's holding the phone this close. He'd never seen them look so perfect on anyone before. "Basically, it's a love story," he whispers, suddenly taken aback at everything about this transient moment between them.

Timmy blinks his eyes to look at Armie. Why does it have to be a love story? Why can’t it be a story about friendship? “It better end well.” He mumbles. “So tell me. Is it a boy and a girl?” He prompts him trying to get him to start talking again. Maybe he’d mess up again and laugh. Then Timmy wouldn’t mind him trying to tell him of all people a story about love. It’s cruel but he’s tired of telling him no, telling him he can’t say this or look at him like that. Armie wants to and a big part of Timmy wants him to. He’s now just vulnerable and tired enough to let him. “Tell me how they fall in love.” He adds.

"I don't know, I guess. Harper's version is they're bunnies, so," Armie shrugs and gives him a small smile. "They um, one of them runs away from home and gets lost. Finds the other one. They go on a journey together to find a new…” _Home._ “You know what? It's not... never mind. I'll think of something else." Armie swallows hard and realizes he can't tell a single one of Harper's little fairy tales without him thinking of his own, in Italy and every day since then, the pages torn out of the book leaving him lost and uncertain where the ending truly belonged. "Um—" he tries to think but all he can think about is their own story. "I got nothing, sorry. I can tell you stories about me but I don't know if you want that. Maybe you should tell one." He tries to steady himself and finds comfort in the blankets around him.

Timmy hums. Armie is nervous. There’s no way he could not recite a story. Timmy had even watched him countless times himself. When he wanted to he could be one of the best story tellers. But Timmy is not one of their kids (no matter how often they’d used that joke for the media). “I don’t know either. I mean- I can’t recall the last time I told someone a story.” He points out wracking his brain for _something_. “The only thing coming to mind is...” he pauses. “The knight who was madly in love with a princess. But I guess you don’t want to hear _that_.”

Armie's head plops back on the pillow when he speaks. He's already lost to what they had in Italy; just _thinking_ about the night they looked up the entire story and read _that_ part together makes his breath catch. He remembers talking about it and thinking he, like Elio said, wouldn't have the courage speak. He knew logically that the "die" didn't necessarily have to be physical death, but could also be emotional or spiritual. But he feared that not speaking with Timmy would be all three combined. "You can tell it if you want," he says quietly, leaning back on his side so he's visible to Timmy. He's not sure how much his expression gives away, but he's too tired for masks now—especially with Timmy.

“Are you sure? I mean- I can find something else?” He suggests but when he sees a small movement of Armie’s head, the smallest shake he complies. “Alright, so once upon a time a knight was madly in love with a princess. And she, too, was in love with him.” He starts and talks trying to take in Armie’s face all the while trying not to get distracted too much. “Eventually he can’t take it anymore and asks her whether it’s better to speak or to die. She’s confused, perhaps oblivious as she answers, to speak of course. But the poor knight was too much of a coward to ever tell her how he truly felt.” Timmy hates and loves telling this part. There are so many memories connected to it. He remembers that this scene led them up to the Berm where they’d kissed under the warm Italian sun. He remembers an interview where they’d been asked the same thing. Timmy had already known how he’d felt about Armie and had given a more or less cryptic response that it depends. And Armie? “The heart wants what it wants,” he’d said. Timmy wonders if he’d been aware already of his feelings for Timmy and that they weren’t strong enough to hold them together.

"It's hard to speak sometimes," Armie says quietly. He'd always been a man of action, not words. He'd been learning the past few years to be better about balance, but it wasn't always easy to let go and just _say_ what he needed to without having some fear in the back of his head telling him to shut up. He wants to speak with Timmy always, though. He just doesn't want to involve the rest of the world and their judgement, even though he knows that would never be fair for either of them.

Timmy nods. “I know. At least I know, huh?” He studies Armie’s face. He’d told him both the I love you and I can’t be with you. Full circle so to say. “At least you told me.” He mumbles more to himself. He recalls the first time he said it, in Timmy’s hotel room and how he’d said it again in the park each time prompted by Timmy’s confession. Perhaps he’d felt pressured. Timmy doesn’t want to think not even this had been true though. He wants to hold this in his memory as a light spot.

 _I'm still in love with you._ The words nearly spill out of Armie but he stops them just in time. He's not allowed to say it anymore—it'll hurt Timmy and he doesn't want that. But he _is_ still in love with him, probably always would be. This is it for him, he knows it is. "At least I told you," he repeats. _At least I told you once, that I was in love with you. I said it once._ "I was so nervous," he confesses. "You always make me nervous, the good kind you know? Sorry, I shouldn't... is there more? To the story? I never paid attention after that part."

Timmy can’t help but chuckle. “Me neither, man.” He sighs then. He _makes_ Armie nervous? On the one side, of course. If he’s in love with him, there are the butterflies that Timmy also feels in his own stomach. “Did you feel like you have to?” He asks. “Because I said it first.” He asks although he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

"No, _no,_ " Armie shakes his head. His entire abdomen feels like pins and needles, the feeling creeping up his spine. "You just gave me courage." It was true, he _had_ given him a fair bit of courage. "I'd been saying it for a year and a half anyways, just not in exact terms, you know?" He’s shocked Timmy is letting him talk about this, giving him an in for a conversation that actually mattered. He wants it to last forever.

“A year and a half? You’ve been meaning it all that time?” This okay. The conversation is on safe grounds. Timmy will never tire of hearing Armie talk about how much he loves him no matter how little it changes. He wants to believe it. Every word he says. “Remember the one night when we had that one party? Before we filmed the scene on the Berm even. Everyone gathered at Luca’s and there were so many people around, people that I liked and yet all I could think was that I’d be just as happy if I’d be alone with you. Maybe even happier because then you’d only look at me. It was the night I realised I love you.” The story tumbles out of his mouth before he can stop it, indefinitely more meaningful than the knight and the princess.

"Before the Berm?" Armie asks, his entire body filling to the brim with butterflies as he sinks lower into the bed. "God, you know—I wanted to kiss you that night. It was the first time I wanted to and didn't have an excuse. It fucking terrified me," he chuckles. "You were so cool." He smiles fondly and treads lightly, anxiety over the conversation being taken from him ever present. He tries to soak up every second while he can.

“Cool?” It’s literally the last thing Timmy would have expected and it brings a smile to his face even as his fingertips start itching with excitement. “Nobody ever called me cool. God, I’m super lame but thanks, man.” His face had heated up quite a bit thinking about what would’ve happened had Armie really kissed him.

"People call you cool," Armie insists. "You are, it's just a fact." His heart skips a beat at the blush rushing over Timmy's face—he loved it when he got flustered. There was something inexplicably attractive in it, though he tries to tell himself now that he's not allowed to feel that anymore if he's not going to follow through and be with him for real. "You were dancing that night, I was so intimidated. Luca teased me about it all night."

“That’s Luca. God, I miss him. Sometimes I wish I could just go over to ask his advice. Like no matter if it’s the question whether I should put more salt in the soup or if I want to debate a new movie.“ He points out that Luca had been there for them. He had offered them so much safety and ultimately managed to create Elio and Oliver. He thinks back to that night and remembers dancing because it let him forget everything. He loves it. “You could’ve asked for dancing lessons.” He points out. He certainly wouldn’t have minded. Dancing brought back the memory of Armie telling him he’d dance with him sober and without music on the beach of their own private little island. He still wants that. Or at least the Caymans. But not like this. Not if he isn’t allowed to touch and look as much as he wants to.

"Nah," Armie shakes his head with a smile. "I wouldn't have learned anything. We'd have ended up wrestling or something." He laughs a little at the thought of Timmy trying to anyway, back then when Armie still hadn't realized what he'd been feeling was attraction that had nothing to do with the roles they played. "Although, I probably should have let you, considering." He liked dancing with Timmy, but those early days were full of so many mixed emotions that dancing with him was far more daunting than it was now.

Timmy chuckles and pulls up the blanket a little higher. “It was actually really cute you know. Even if everyone made fun of you, I thought it was cute. But I would probably have indeed been too flustered to teach you anything.” Suddenly he wants to take Armie out for a dance. Either some formal dance with both of them wearing suits and smirking while acting like they could behave themselves and ‘accidentally’ bumping into people that they don’t like or even just a run down bar with music that’s almost too quiet because usually people only come to drink and it takes all of Armie’s courage to step into the empty space with Timmy and sway him slowly to the rhythm of the music. Just another fantasy.

"Oh, yeah, okay, _cute_. Sure." He rolls his eyes and smirks at Timmy. How had he been crying at the start of this call? How had they even gotten here? He never wanted it to end, these moments with Timmy where time stopped and memory wasn't so linear. "Even flustered you knew how to dance though. You were good at everything, flustered or not." He remembers all the times they would be filming and Timmy would physically shake nerves or something away from his body, only to return to the scene completely and effortlessly committed. It started off as being intriguing to watch but by the end of filming it was downright intoxicating.

Timmy blushes brighter. “Everything? Yeah sure whatever. I may be able to dance in whatever situation but I’m certainly not good at everything you charmer.” Armie does this. Thinking people are perfect although they are just as flawed as he is. He wants to suggest for them to dance when they meet again but that won’t happen. Whenever they do it’ll be cold and distant. “I am also just a human being. Like you. We all make mistakes.” He points out.

"I don't want to think about mistakes," Armie says, sobering in the thought. "I want to think about good things only." He adjusts the pillow under his head and sighs. "You're too humble, anyway. It's okay to let me compliment you," he tells him with a sad smile. The red on Timmy's cheeks has to be his new favorite color, he decides. It’s fleeting and vibrant and unashamed.

Timmy welcomes that focus. Crema held so many good things for both of them. “Good, then let’s talk about the day where we had the tickle war going on and literally didn’t talk outside of takes. When either of us came close the other would attack. Luca was _so_ fed up with us he had the technicians push us into the pool. Everyone thought we’d been fighting for real and it was serious but you just laughed and chased me through the pool.” Timmy shakes his head at the memory feeling very warm.

"Mmm, you jumped on my back that day, right? God, I couldn't breathe, you took all the air. Or the day when we rode bikes for like three hours so they could get their shots and you were being dramatic about it." Armie laughs, the sound full of affection and warmth. "It looked good, though—no one could tell you were out of breath," he smiles. "Unlike me the day we filmed at the Berm."

“Well I had to get back at you somehow. You were constantly overtaking me. Biking, running. So frustrating. I knew I could only get you out of breath by surprising you.” He points out. It had been a spur of the moment thing rather than a calculated move. He felt like teasing him because that’s what he would do. Between their wrestling, the hour-long conversations and the want, of course he’d tease him. To the day, the kiss on the berm was one of Timmy’s favourite. “Remember our ‘rehearsal’?” He mimics air quotes. “Luca just opened the lid and we couldn’t stop. It really was like in a romantic comedy.” God, they’d just made out for half an hour in the grass there completely forgetting anything around them.

Armie chuckles, warming at the memory. "I'd never kissed a guy like that—did you know that? I think I let you believe I had because of the other movies but it was never like that." His fingers touch his lips absentmindedly before dropping to rest his hand under his cheek. "I had no idea that much time had passed. I just figured he'd stop us, you know? And then at some point I didn't really _care_ and then I didn't want him to and..." He sighs; he can almost hear the two of them growing desperate for each other that day. He'd never had a single kiss confuse and consume him more—it was exhilarating just to think about. "He's a genius, that's for sure," he adds as an afterthought.

Timmy can feel his heart speed up and wishes it wouldn’t. No, he rather wishes he wouldn’t have to disappoint it. “Yeah He is. He took a really big risk without a chemistry test and everything. I was so nervous because I was afraid I would end up hating you. The opposite happened though.” He wants to be back in Crema so badly then. He wants to hold him again, kiss him, chase him through Luca’s garden, he wants to hope and to love without thinking about the consequences.

"You thought you'd _hate_ me? God," Armie laughs. "Man, I was just afraid to get naked with you. Why'd you think you would hate me?" He watches the screen closely to try and read him. He wasn't sure what he was thinking about and it made him anxious. _Very Elio,_ the thought occurs to him. He wonders if Timmy saw this similarity as well, if this was just another one of those things they blamed on character bleed when in reality it was just them all along.

Timmy hadn’t thought this would be something Armie would pick at. “Well, mostly I was fucking intimidated. I saw all your movies and I had no idea how to live up to any of that. Then I was afraid you’d hate me because I’d ruin your game. An actor alone can’t shine. That’s a fact especially in such a movie with so much intimacy. And then of course I would start hating you for being so fucking perfect and so goddamn right about how bad I am. I thought this could very likely become a disaster but then you burst into my lesson and it was- maybe not love at first sight but chemistry at first sight. I fell in love with your mind, your acting, your protectiveness, the love you offer everyone despite what you told me about your family. This fascinates me, it amazes me and I still learn new things, a certain way you look or say a word and I realise not much has changed at all.” He explains. It feels good to pour it all out. He just hopes he wouldn’t be left empty at the end of this.

"God, I know you don't want me to say this and I know this just fucks everything up but I love you so much, Timmy," he sighs. He could feel himself turning red as Timmy said all those things and it was too much to not comment on. "I don't understand why you keep telling me this stuff, I don't understand why you keep building me up and I know, I _know_ you do it because no one else does but damn it. I just feel like shit, how could I possibly give you up, it makes no fucking sense." Armie drags a hand through his hair and he feels it all bubbling up to the surface. "I remember when I met you, you looked at me with these bright eyes and I swear to God, Timmy, I felt like everything fell into place when you smiled at me."

Timmy’s visions blurs again. Armie can’t say those things. Everything in him pushes him to ask why he did it when it made no sense but he can’t. “You’re right. I don’t want to hear it because then I’d just start hoping again and then I’d just start begging again and you’d have to tell me no again and I- I’m not ready. I can’t do this again.” He makes clear. It had been barely more than a day. “You know I’d smile every day for you.” He says quietly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—I know," Armie turns his face to the pillow momentarily before looking back at him and watching his eyes fill with emotion. "I feel selfish wanting your smile," he admits. "Especially because I like it best when I'm the reason." He's grown quiet and he knows he needs to change subjects, do something to keep them away from topics with too much heart, but he just misses him too much right now to really do anything but follow him through whatever conversation he put in front of him.

Timmy swallows, tries to hold the tears in. “Of course you do.” He sighs, wipes his face, tries to remember something good. Something to get them back on track but all he can think about is how much he misses Armie. How badly he wants to see him again. “Armie, you can’t- you made a decision. Please, don’t do this to me. Don’t play with me.” He begs. He needs Armie to stand by his decision or he’d start hoping again.

Armie drags in a shaky breath and blinks hard. He can't talk about this, as much as he wants to tell him what's going on in his head, he can't. It'll probably just hurt Timmy to know that he was genuinely torn, that his decision was one he simultaneously felt he needed to stand by and one he desperately regretted. "Do you remember the day we wandered around New York? You wore that dumb hoodie I love so much. Remember? We laughed so hard that day when you almost got us lost." He feels the walls caving in on him and he's trying to keep them from collapsing. Maybe happy memories, but then again, happy memories hurt for what he wasn't sure they'd ever have again. Maybe they should just stop talking and go back to looking, but looking meant staring and staring meant loving and he didn't know what was right anymore.

Timmy wishes he could easily respond that he in fact never got them lost. He’s New York born and bred. He doesn’t get lost; he’s only momentarily confused. He remembers showing Armie his flat and his friends and his spots. He’d let him into his life and he hadn’t left. He swallows, tries to form words but can’t. This is not working. Any of this. “I’m sorry. I’m going to sleep. This isn’t- I’m sorry, Armie.” He apologises. He can’t do this.

The tears come so fast that Armie doesn't have time to register them, let alone stop them. He nods and presses his palm against his eyes. "I wish you wouldn't," he mumbles but it doesn't even sound like enough of an argument to him. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm not being fair, I'm sorry." He lowers his hand and nods again. "Okay, I get it."

“I’m going to stay in New York for awhile now. Detox a little from everything. The awards, the fans, you.” He adds and takes a breath. “So- what I’m saying is, what I’m trying to say is: you know where I live. If you change your mind- my door is open.” He can’t leave without leaving them this option. He’s not strong enough. He immediately ends the call then not wanting to see Armie’s reaction. He sighs exhausted, sad and yet again more in love. The room is dark around him and he welcomes it, curling up into a ball and allowing himself to dream of their little island a little longer.

When the screen goes black, Armie stares at it for a solid minute. It starts slow and it takes a while for it to settle in his bones but it's there, living, breathing, taking everything out of him just to fuel itself— _hope_. He drops his phone and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling and debating getting on a plane right fucking _now._ He can't, he knows he can't. But he still wants to, now that he knows it's an option. He glances at the time and counts hours until he had to be up to leave for LA on a different plane with a different person who in a different life he would love more. He'd figure this out.

He texts Elizabeth before falling asleep, tells her he'll be ready to leave in the morning and please don't try to figure out where he was. They could talk later, but right now he's going to bed. He turns his phone off and sets an alarm before turning the lamp off and drifting, Timmy's words ringing in his ears, breaking his heart at how willing Timmy was to be hurt time and time again, yet giving him more hope than he'd had in what felt like years, not days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there guys


	16. Chapter 16

Elizabeth is burning with anger when he knocks at their hotel room door the next morning. “What the hell? Where were you for God’s sake?” They have no time so she pushes his suitcase into his hand. “Go, go. We are already late. I can’t believe you ran away. How old are you? My god.” She brushes her hair back into place. “You’re so irresponsible.” Sometimes she feels like she has three children.

Armie rolls his eyes and follows her down the hall. He was still recovering from last night to be honest, and almost welcomed her anger. It was familiar and it helped ground him in reality instead of fantasy like he'd been exposed to as he dreamed of beaches and Timmy and bliss. When she was angry at him, he at least knew what to expect. He could even take comfort in how far he could push her before it started to hurt him too. But he woke up hurting when he realized that hope meant nothing if you didn't act on it before it died. So he pushes her because it's the only thing he feels he has an ounce of control over.  "Don't tell me, have I finally done something to warrant you causing a public scene?" he asks with a humorless smirk when they enter the elevator. "I'm a little surprised we haven't hit that point already, to be honest."

She shoots him a glare. “I won’t give you that satisfaction. Some people know how to control their reactions, you know?” She snaps. The elevator doors open and she checks them out when Armie is demanded to pay for the room he’d slept in tonight. She turns to glare at him. He had been in the same building? She’d thought he was probably somewhere drunk and too high to find his way back but apparently that hadn’t been the problem. “We’ll be talking about this.” She hisses but lets him pay.

When they are in the taxi she checks her hair and her make-up with her phone. She doesn’t feel in the mood to turn to him or to gift him with any of her attention. “Can you at least explain to me why you would feel it’s necessary to throw our money out of the window like that?”

"I wouldn't call it throwing it out the window," he says, sighing against the seat. He stares out the window and thinks of checking his phone to see if Timmy's sent him a text, but he knows he hasn't. So he leaves it. He doesn't really want to be cruel to Elizabeth, but every time he thinks of softening to her, he remembers how Timmy sat on facetime and cried in silence for minutes because of what she convinced him to do. And then he doesn't feel so bad. "I needed space."

She frowns and now does look over to him. “Space? For what?” She thinks about it for a moment but can only come up with one reason. “You made your decision. A good decision. A responsible one. You know what’ll happen a year or two down the road, otherwise, don’t you?” She reaches out and covers his hand with hers. “And I’m proud of you for that.” For once he had behaved like an adult.

His stomach turns with the contact but he bites his tongue and lets it happen. He has to spent time traveling with her today after all and he doesn't want to make this more miserable for himself than necessary. He hated this. It wasn't supposed to feel like this—he was supposed to make his choice and sure, it would be hard, but then it was supposed to have felt better. He was supposed to feel relief. Like a reaffirmation of what he already had started to think, she left him wondering and even believing that he made the wrong choice. He stays quiet for the rest of the ride to the airport, knowing he'll have to play civil in case there are cameras around. Always the actor, hiding behind facades.

They don’t talk much the entire plane ride. It’s fine with her. She hates fighting in public. It’s nobody’s business and always looked so messy. Besides, you never know who’s listening. When they are home though Hops and Ford are still with their nanny. “Finally home.” She sighs. “I’m so glad this madness is over.” She walks over and wraps her arms around his neck. “And now I want you to properly arrive here. It still feels like you’re elsewhere with your thoughts.” She pulls him down to kiss him.

He lets her for a moment, her lips feeling foreign for the first time in years. He wonders if she can taste Timmy's lips like he still can. He pulls away and runs a hand through his hair. There was some uncertainty in the air that he didn't like. He wanted to run away to New York but he had obligations here, too. There was a balance—he needed to find that balance, and then find peace within it. He couldn't risk ruining this, not again. He wouldn't get a third try. "I can't help it if my mind isn't here. Stop expecting me to be here. I don't know why you think I could leave him and just be _okay._ " He walks towards the kitchen and grabs a glass of water.

She follows him and leans in the doorway crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Because he’s just a crush. Because he’s way too young for you. His feelings won’t stay and—let’s be honest here, you need some guiding hands in life and I just think he can’t be that.” She points out.

He can feel it creeping back up his neck—the habit of accepting her words. _She's right,_ he thinks; _he can't be that._ He shakes his head and remembers last night when he took a stand, when he hung up first because Armie didn't have the strength to do it. He thinks of Timmy telling him how he felt first, how he saw more than Armie ever felt he had to offer and told him until he started to believe it himself. Maybe he just needed a _different_ guiding hand. "I'm not doing this with you right now."

“What? When then? I can’t believe there’s still anything to do. I can’t believe this is so difficult for you to accept.” She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’m going to unpack then. Talk to me when you aren’t pissy anymore.” She tells him. She hears the nanny bring the kids home but lets Armie look out for them until she’s done.

 

“Daddy!” Harper jumps up to wrap her arms around his waist. “I missed you so much!”

“Dada!” Ford demands as well slapping the floor. The nanny nods and leaves them to greet their father.

He pushes Elizabeth's words away from him as far as they'll go and lifts Harper into the air, catching her and spinning her around. She squeals wildly and starts chatting about some cello, Armie giving her a quizzical look until finally, " _Oh,_ jello." She smiles and nods happily and continues telling him about the jello the nanny made into fun shapes while Armie picks Ford up from his carrier and kisses his cheek. Harper stops mid-story and asks where _mommy_ is, and Armie shrugs. "Mom's unpacking, Hops. Let's go play outside," he suggests. She leaps up from the floor and is at the door so fast he starts laughing. He sighs when the California sun splays across his skin, the sound of Harper dancing and singing around in a circle lifting him higher. He holds Ford a little tighter and presses a kiss against the top of his head, smiling fondly when he rests his head against Armie's chest and babbles at him. Harper calls at him to come dance with her and he relents, holding her hand and spinning her in one hand and gently tickling Ford with the other as he holds him, getting him to giggle. _I don't want to miss this,_ he thinks. He worries she'll take them from him if he leaves, and though he's not particularly decided on divorce, he knows he can't live without Timmy. And he can't do one without the other.

Elizabeth hears loud laughs echoing up and looks out of the window to see Armie play with the kids outside. He looks genuinely happy in what feels like days. She wouldn’t want to miss his support in any area of her life and knowing he wouldn’t leave the kids makes her glad but—it’s not nice to know if it weren’t for them Armie would have already signed the divorce papers and taken a plane to New York.

She comes down when she’s done and is greeted by her children. She smiles at Armie who’s now hovering in the doorway. “How about we all cook something together for dinner?” She suggests. The time together would help. Perhaps Armie would even learn to love his life here again with them.

"Fine," Armie replies, walking inside with the kids. He has Harper sit on a stool to help them and puts Ford in a play pen nearby. He watches him for a moment and smiles sadly. There was so much he wanted, so much he feared he couldn't have. He rubs the top of Ford’s head and mumbles, "It'll be different for you." He can at least make sure his children didn't feel like they were being forced to live a certain way. He could at least do that for them, even if he hadn't done it for himself in years. He goes back to the kitchen and gives Elizabeth a tight smile.

She sighs. "I really can't understand why you're making such a hassle out of this." She tells him and gets the ingredients out of the fridge. "You're acting like you're suffering here, like you could be so much happier in a cold apartment in New York only because he is there." She points out and pulls a knife out to chop the vegetables. When she'd encouraged him to make this movie, she'd thought he'd be making out with a random guy and it would surely only look funny. She hadn't expected this to change him or even threaten their marriage.

"Do you really want to talk about this? Because if so you should know I'm feeling like I've had enough b-u-l-l-s-h-i-t for a lifetime and I'm not going to tip toe around this. so if you want to talk—fine. but I wouldn't start that conversation until you're sure you want to hear it, _babe_." He's angry; everything she says makes it worse and he knows he'll snap if she keeps talking about timmy like he was some punk kid.

She turns to look at him knife in her hand. She can’t believe he reacted like _this._ She’s more used to his tame responses now. It had taken Armie years to settle but she’d really thought he was over this now. “There you go again with your aggressiveness. You go into defensive mode and suddenly you’re the big muscle guy who’s right and dominant.” She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I want to talk about this. You’ve been the one who’s dodging me constantly and instead acting pissed off.”

Right, of course she wanted to do this now. Armie looks around at their children and sighs. "Can we at least not do this in front of them?" he requests. He had no idea how much they would remember, but he didn't want to risk doing damage to his own children in some unconscious way just because they had to hear the fight he knew would ensue once they started this conversation. "I don't want to upset them." There were very few ways he say this conversation playing out, and he was certain they'd be hurt regardless of the outcome. _Minimize the pain,_ he told himself. _Minimize it for everyone, you fuck up._

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later then. Make yourself useful and prepare the meat.” She tells him and this time he goes without complaining. He lets Harper help with salt and pepper and explain other spices to her. They are unfairly adorable and such a great team. Sometimes she got the impression Harper liked Armie better than her. They eat together and Harper tells them everything they did while they were away. They brought the kids to bed then which took some time itself. They are not ready to give up time with them yet since they just returned. Elizabeth bounces a crying Ford while Armie has to chase Harper down. Two hours later they have them tucked in though, and find themselves in the living room falling on the couch with an exhausted sigh. “God if I didn’t love them so much...” She sighs. There’s an amicable peace between them right now but she knows they have to talk about this or it would just continue to get worse.

Armie stares at his hands and wonders when shit will hit the fan. His heart starts racing with every second that passes; he knows he has to tell her it's killing him. He wants someone to know, though, so he thinks it might be a relief mixed in with the pain. This sort of fight wasn't the kind you could just have and then go to bed afterwards, either. He worried this would be a fight for days until finally one of them stopped yelling at the other. He's not sure he can open these wounds and let her in without it killing him, but he knows he has to try. Better to speak, right?

Perhaps it doesn’t have to be today though. Right now it feels like they’re a family again. She would like to keep it that way. Perhaps the problem would just dissolve if Armie would learn to be happy here again. “Do you just want to drink some wine and watch tv?” She suggests softly.

Armie sighs and glances over at her. Sometimes he could still see the woman he fell so hard for all those years ago. He nods even though a part of him wants to do this _now_ and get it over with. It's not something he should wait on, but then again, it's not something he should just throw out there either. He knows he has to be certain he's ready to actually leave her if he tells her everything. Walking away from someone you've spent a solid chunk of your life with just wasn't an easy thing to do, even if his heart was somewhere else, _even if_ he knew this wasn't the most healthy relationship anymore. Maybe ever. "We can do that," he says with another sigh. He'd muster up the courage and tell her tomorrow. He knew he was quickly running out of time to fix things with Timmy.

Elizabeth smiles and pats his thigh in passing. "I'll get the wine. Put some movie on." She tells him. Perhaps a romantic night would soothe his temper. Sometimes he didn't understand that not all is bad when something goes wrong. Every good marriage has a time of crisis, right? She collects a wine bottle and two glasses when she decides to add some cheese and bread. Armie is always much tamer when there's food involved. His infatuation with Timothée is surely nothing more than a crush. He never displayed interest in other men before. It just doesn't make sense that he would relate with a boy ten years his junior; it’s insane. But then again Armie had always been ridiculously childish. She puts everything on a tray and carries it into the living room. "Look at that. Some wine and cheese, Sir?" She teases him and puts the tray down. She takes the knife and cuts a piece of cheese off before offering it Armie.

He takes it willingly and lets her pour him a glass of wine. He knows she's trying to keep the peace by doing this, but he's tired from the travel and the kids and thinking about Timmy out in New York in an empty apartment without him. Maybe he _did_ need a night off. "Thanks," he says while accepting the wine. They turn a movie on and he tries desperately not to think about how the way one of the characters laughs like Timmy.

She’s glad she’s right. Turns out this man hasn’t completely turned into a stranger. The food and wine make them tired so they just accept each other’s company. She leans against his shoulder. The thought to make a story on Instagram occurs to her but Armie stops her. She accepts it to save the peaceful atmosphere. “Let’s go to bed.” She suggests when the credits roll.

He nods and grabs the tray and glasses and goes to the kitchen. "I'll meet you there," he calls over his shoulder. He rinses things off and places them in the sink and pauses. He watches the water go down the drain and wonders what the rules were here. Everything in him wants to text Timmy, but he's not sure he's allowed to. Timmy had hung up before he could ask if the open-door invitation was the only acceptable form of communication at this point. The water has been running for awhile so he turns it off and rests his back against the counter. He was certain he wouldn't sleep tonight between sharing a bed with her and his own self-hatred for not telling her already. He pulls his phone out and types a text, hesitating before sending but pressing the key anyway, and then shuffles upstairs.

 _I don't expect you to reply so don't feel pressured to. I just watched some movie i dont even know what it was to be honest but someone had your laugh...anyway. i hope you have a good night sweet tea_.

Timmy takes his mother's advice to detox, to bring some space between him and everything what happened. He walks around New York and remembers the happy times he had here (not only with Armie but he can't quite stop himself from doing that, too). He gets coffee at Starbucks and listens to his favourite music. It doesn't heal him but he feels like he can breathe a little again. When he gets Armie's message, he goes through a couple of emotions. There's the immediate hurt upon reading his name, the pain that even now Armie can't stop thinking about him or texting him but also the hope and the love. It's undeniably a sweet message. So he thinks it wouldn't hurt too much to send a nice response back. He hopes it helps Armie and doesn't make him feel worse.

_How can anyone have my laugh? I'm The Original Timmy T._

Armie's halfway up the steps when he gets the reply, stopping him dead in his tracks. He doesn't check it at first, just holds the phone like something precious. He hadn't thought he would actually reply, he thought he'd send it and then go to bed and at least Timmy would know he was thinking of him. He didn't expect a reply. Swallowing, he turns his phone over and over in his hands, glancing upstairs before sinking down to sit for a moment. Armie unlocks his phone and reads the words and is immediately overwhelmed. His head falls back against the wall and he closes his eyes to capture the moment before it fades, this crazy moment where he felt at a loss for a simple text, a text that by any other standards didn't even mean anything. The lightness of Timmy's words takes his breath away, though; an onslaught of memories washes over him of Timmy rapping in cars and laughing until he couldn't breathe when Armie would tease him about it. _you're right it was a cheap imitation. should sue for stealing your brand tim._ He hits send and rereads Timmy's text over and over. He realizes in that moment that it's a fool's game trying to live without him; how could he possibly live without him when he was the only person who helped him breathe? It was a text—he should _not_ be affected like this. And yet he was, completely and hopelessly taken apart at the playful response he wasn't sure he'd ever get again.

Timmy can't help a chuckle when he reads Armie's response. It's almost like before, before the Oscars, before the night of confessions. He wants to cling to it and keep it alive a little longer, their easy friendship. _I'm afraid you'll have to pay for my lawyer. Poor NY kid can't afford shit._ He replies and waits anxiously for a response. He can see his mother look at him from the corner of his eyes. He'd expect a scold. Both of them know talking to Armie is not going to make anything better but her smile is soft and Timmy is momentarily overwhelmed by her warmth and love. She walks over and sits next to him. "It's a rare gift if someone can make you smile like that even though you should hate them. I wish Armie would understand that and keep you at his side. I think you'd be good for each other." She tells him.

Timmy bites his lip and looks down. He's so grateful to have her, his whole family in fact who have been nothing short of amazing to cheer him up. "I know but he's made a decision and—I gave him an opportunity. I told him I'm here for him should he change it." He explains and looks up at her.

She looks proud and ruffles a hand through his hair. "That's why you are my son. Way ahead of everyone as always even with this." She kisses his forehead before standing up again. "I'm proud of you." She says and returns into her study.

Armie's smile is immediate and broad when he sees the reply. God, it shouldn't make him this happy. He clings to it and pulls his knees a little closer to his body and types a response. _fair enough. enjoy it while it lasts because you're about to have a career you cant even imagine. you'll be loaded and i'll be the one asking for money. just watch_. He hits send and walks back downstairs to sit on the couch. He pulls a throw over his legs and stares at the screen, hoping she won't interrupt him. He missed Timmy, he missed him so much, and if this was the only thing he could have for now then he wasn't going to give it up.

Timmy rolls his eyes. Of course, Armie would find a chance to compliment him even now. _Shut up. We all know who'll still be signing peaches in 50 years and who'll drive by with a Bentley._ He texts back. He remembers the interview where they'd come up with this quite clearly. He can't help hoping Armie would actually pick him up with that Bentley, calling him darling and kissing him on the mouth. He'd be more than happy to sign peaches to the end of his days if that's what he gets for it.

 _if anyone perpetuates that peach thing it'll be you don't even play timmy you know you love it_ Send. Armie's heart is doing that thing again where it can't quite keep a steady pace but he doesn't mind. It was almost like nothing had happened, like they were back to normal and could tease each other all they wanted. The thought occurs to him that this would be what it's like to actually _be_ with him—it would be light and playful and teasing and hearts racing and wonderful. He wants it. _you can stash them in my bentley when you take them to premieres though dont worry_. He needs this life with him. He just does.

Timmy blushes a little. He'd love to drive to premieres in a Bentley with Armie. Even with a trunk full of peaches. _Good wouldn't want a backache in my old days. Only if you come to premieres with me though. I think I'd just get bored otherwise by those little kids constantly asking me if they could get them Armie Hammer's phone number._ Timmy wishes Armie would actually be here so he could shove his feet under his thigh and have him chase him with tickles again. Even just as a friend—but that won't work out and he knows it. It's everything or nothing now. They just keep stealing time with their little teasings.

 _if only you knew how many people i already have dm'ing me for your number. ive been fighting fanboys and fangirls left and right. i get it but still they only want you._ He hits send and hopes it hits his mark with humor, though he knows it's full of something else too. He stares at the screen and adds _I'll drive you though. I'll have to mooch off your success haha_. He sighs and sinks into the couch to get more comfortable. He wishes he was back in that hotel room so he could facetime Timmy, but it's not smart for a lot of reasons. He knows he's lucky to even get a text.

Timmy can't help but imagine a possessive Armie telling some obsessive fans to back off. It shouldn't warm his heart but it does. Some people had shown some weird tendencies and he's afraid of it getting worse. And honestly, he can't imagine Armie having to "mooch off his success". _If you get me there in time I'll let you walk the carpet with me ;)_ He sends and then adds _also you should've seen my DMs when you abandoned social media, people were ready to bribe me_

And there it is, the almost uncontrollable desire to tell Timmy he loves him. It hit at the oddest times, but it's there, screaming at him in his mind. Armie fights it in order to keep the conversation going, but god does he want to tell him. _just like old times? deal._ He reads the second text again and remembers Timmy sending him a screenshot once of someone desperate for Armie to go back to Twitter. _they should have been ready to bribe ME. silly fans. i guess they knew you have influence_

Armie is right, he realises. They had to have known, or at least hoped, that they are as close as they seemed to be. _Well you did come back._ Timmy points out. _But I don't know if there'll be anything like social media these days in 50 years. We'll probably be too old to keep up and everyone will laugh at us for saying Twitter_. It's so sweet to imagine a future in which they knew each other either way and could just be those two silly old dudes who used to make those movies together.

 _speak for yourself. I plan on being super hip when im old._ Armie smiles and hits send—he  can almost hear Timmy laughing at him in New York. He wishes he was here so he could run his fingers through his hair and tickle him to prolong the laughter. Soon, he thinks. He'd figure all this out and then he would go to him. It would work. It had to. He needed this too much for it not to; the alternative was something he couldn't even think about without anxiety creeping up his chest.

Timmy does indeed laugh. That's such an Armie response. _You'll have to teach me then._ He points out. He wishes he could intimate an old man voice over text but of course he can't—except when he could... His finger hovers over the voice message button. Ahh, fuck it. He does his best shitty version of an old man talking when he says, "What was a hoverboard again, dear? I don't get those cool hip kids today." He releases the button and watches it being sent before leaning back with an anxious sigh.

When the message appears, Armie's heart flips. His voice, he sent him his _voice._ Armie stands and walks around until he finds some headphones he can actually use and hovers over the play button. He takes a deep breath and presses it, his hands lifting to cover his ears to hold onto the sound as long as possible. He falls against the couch with a big smile and a too-tight chest from happiness at the sound of him. He wants to send one back but he really just wants to say I love you over and over again but that would be cruel. He wants him to have his voice, too; if he sent a voice message that _had_ to mean he wanted one back...right? He presses the button and speaks softly, too aware that even in this big house, Elizabeth would listen for this. "Hoverboards already exist you goof. God you really are out of the loop, are you sure _you're_ not 80?" he laughs, biting his lip as he hits send. He didn't want to go upstairs; he wanted to live in this moment forever with Timmy's warm voice when they could pretend things weren't as hard as they were.

Timmy's heart falls out of step when he sees Armie has sent him a voice message as well. He's not sure if he can manage listening to it again already but knows at the same time there's no way he doesn't. He leaves the open space of the living room though and walks back into his childhood bedroom. He almost presses play then but realises it would be much more real if he'd use his headphones. When he finally finds them he wonders if Armie already worries. He presses play and listens to his soft voice. It's so incredibly fond he has to hug himself. He plays it again then. The soft chuckle at the end makes him feel more alive than New York has all day. To text or to send another voice message. He contemplates it for a long moment. He bites his lip and tries to shove every feeling that wasn't genuine friendship away before recording again. "Hey now! You are the one who said previously there's an 80 year old man inside of me. Besides they don't really work, right? Or do they? Wait, man did they really manage that now? I want one!" He's surprised himself by how excited he can sound over hoverboards when talking to Armie, even over voice messages.

Armie's eyes well up when he listens to Timmy's message, far too overcome by his excitement and heart. He wants to hold him so goddamn bad. He presses his body against the couch and tries to sound cheerful instead of on the verge of tears when he replies. "I don't know, don't you have friends with them? I'd probably fall if I tried to use them. They've got those weird wheels. And you _are_ an 80 year old man in your soul. Embrace it." Send. He reaches for a throw pillow and hugs it to him, realizing how pathetic he must look but not really caring. He misses him. He wasn't sure if talking to him was helping or hurting, but he couldn't stop himself and didn't really want to either.

Armie's voice sounds a little off and Timmy's knows him too well not to notice. "Says the man who has repeatedly quoted the old classics on me and held hour-long conversations with me about ethical dilemmas, love and philosophy." He points out and tries to sound amused to bring the easy banter back. But it's true and he loves nothing more that Armie could be both. He can be the silly guy with reckless behaviour and then sit down over coffee with you and ponder the meaning of luck and fate.

Armie chuckles at his message and finds himself again wishing he was here. That was all he could think these days— _I wish you were here._ He supposes he might always feel that as long as Timmy wasn't right by his side. He presses the voice message button and holds the mic close. "You're ignoring an important part of those conversations— _you._ I only have those conversations with you because you understand – maybe we're _both_ 80." He presses send and glances at the stairs. No sign. Good. Hopefully she was asleep. He watches his phone anxiously for a response.

Armie’s message cuts too close to the truth again and part of Timmy wants to tell him to stop. The way he said “you” makes him feel breathless. He contemplates a long moment before recording a new message. “That’s only because you don’t show other people that side of you. But fine. We’re both 80 together then. Except you’re the hip one because you actually use social media much more often than I do.” The truth is Timmy often finds himself just checking his twitter and Instagram to see Armie’s latest activities.

 _I'd use it less if we were together._ Can't say that; Armie stares at the screen and sighs. There are too many things he isn't allowed to say and they all threaten to bubble up and over and spill into texts. He covers his face with his arm, the pressure on his eyes welcome and comforting. He's not sure what to say when he feels this restrained. _Together._ He keeps hearing him say it in his mind and it makes him a little dizzy. He picks the phone and and sends, "You're smarter than I am. I should probably be following in your footsteps and just quit it all." He hopes Timmy's message comes faster this time—the waiting made his chest ache.

Timmy is definitely not smarter than Armie. He keeps sending him voice messages when it's the last thing he should be doing. He can't tell him no because the reason is he would miss being able to see how he'd been, what he's currently doing. So he has to say something else, something more innocent. "Nah man. I quite like a clean inbox. I'd get swamped by messages again." He tells him and realises he could have typed it out as well. It's such a short message after all. But this is not laziness. It's simply the desperation to hear each other's voice.

Armie's heart flutters and without thinking too much, he sends, "Just for that I'm going to go spam you." He bites his lip and opens Instagram, sends him a dozen peace sign emoji's in separate messages. He knows it's the only app he has that he can do this to—he'd deleted Twitter long ago. He makes a move to go back to his messages but pauses. The desire to see his face is too much, so he clicks on his name and stares at him through the screen, his face warming. He misses him more than he thought someone could miss another person.

Timmy is confused at the spam of peace signs until he listens to his message. He goes back to Instagram and opens his front camera. He could up that game. He makes his trademark metal sign with pinky, index finger and thumb extended and the other curled to his palm while making a grimace with his tongue out. _Peace and love, motherfucker._ He adds beneath it before going back to their texts. “I hate you, you idiot.” He says but can’t help a chuckle as he says it. “How come you haven’t spread world peace with that?” He teases him before sending that message.

Armie isn't sure what to open first—the voice message or his Instagram—but seeing both notifications makes him giddy. He sits up and tries to settle his heart fluttering but fails. His hands shake as he opens Instagram. A picture. He smiles and taps it, his breath catching when he sees him. Quickly, before he loses his train of thought, he screenshots it. Then with a smirk, he opens his camera and shifts so there's some light on his face. He holds up his middle finger with a sleepy grin and closed eyes and sends it before going to his texts. He listens to the message and sinks back into the couch. "Oddly, peace emoji's can't solve world peace. Who knew? I'll try the middle finger one next time. Maybe that'll solve all the world's problems." He lays back down, content, and opens the screen shot of Timmy. _God, I love you._

Timmy listens to his voice message first simply because he already has the app open. It's endearing and so very Armie. Then he hurries over to Instagram. A picture. But what catches his eye first is the fact that Instagram told him Armie had made a screenshot of his. Of course, he did. Ultimately, it grants Timmy the right to do the same. He opens the picture and Armie looks more tired than he should. But at least he's smiling. Timmy screenshots and decides to answer before it got awkward. "That'd be just like you to try. Maybe we should just try by making the sequel. I bet Luca could make this world a better place. Actually, doesn't he already? Man, the response we got to the movie—I still can't believe that we affected people out there for good." He realises he's rambling and that this is a topic he could talk about forever. "We should just keep making movies together with Luca. I'm still down for Batman and Robin." He then draws the screenshot up and concludes Armie is in the living room. He knows that couch very well. He'd played with Harper and Ford on it countless times. He's actually pretty sure Armie has a picture of that somewhere.

Armie gets the screenshot notification first and feels his heart sputter to a stop. _Damn._ He forgot it told the other person when you did that—oh well, at least Timmy had done it, too, he thinks. Same page. He shakes his head and ignores the blush on his cheeks and listens to his message, smiling softly as he goes on and on. It makes him want to curl up in his voice and drift away, the flitting rhythm and increasingly tired timbre of it sends chills down Armie's spine. He's grateful these are voice messages instead of a phone call because it allows him to catch his breath before responding. "Luca could definitely change the world if everyone agreed to let him. I'd make as many movies with him or you or both as anyone would let me. Even Batman and Robin you nerd," he says, a small laugh escaping.

The laugh tickles something in Timmy's stomach and he feels a happy chuckle blubbering up. He presses record before he can even mentally prepare to be coherent. "Nerd, says the man who educated me fully on the whole Batman timeline. Man if that film had worked out ten years ago you'd be my Batman now but now it's Christian Bale, sorry man," he says, not one bit sorry but definitely teasing him. "You'll have to work hard now to erase that from memory. Or, you know, you could just do Green Lantern like everyone wants you to. Only if it doesn't conflict with shooting the sequel though. That's first priority." Somehow their messages had become longer again but Timmy doesn't mind. They could carry on like this all night.

Armie feels himself warm at Timmy's almost frantic voice, the breathless way it catches and spills out of him until he settles down. Armie has no idea why he sounds so flustered but he's glad he is; he's glad he can still make him flustered even this far away. He turns to lay on his back and stares up at the ceiling, his hand resting on his heart to feel it beating. He presses record. "You never even gave me a chance to be Batman. Christian Bale? C'mon. I bet I can even do the voice better than him, although, it _would_ be a lot harder for me to be inconspicuous. A 6 foot 5 Batman? That's pushing it I guess, but damn the mask is cool. But no, you're right. Crema first. Or wherever Luca ships us off to. That's first." Send. He lets out a sigh and waits for a response.

Timmy had expected Armie to put Christian down. It's why he said it in the first place. But he's probably even right. Timmy had listened to the audiobook after all. He _knows_ what this voice can do to him. He also knows what Armie looks like with a mask and that had only been the small Lone Ranger one. He stands up, paces for a moment before cuddling back into the blankets. "Well, you looked good as the Lone Ranger so you have the mask working out for you at least. What about Bond? Can you beat Daniel Craig? But you know what? I think you actually work best in the roles you make yourselves. Do more indie movies with me, man."

Armie smiles when he listens to Timmy. It occurs to him they might as well just be on the phone at this point but he doesn't mind this too much. He wanders around until he finds an actual blanket and then settles back onto the couch with it. "Send me a script and I'm there. You really are the best scene partner I've ever had, you know. You're fucking amazing." He sends it and feels his heart racing. This might be too much—he wasn't sure how much he was allowed to say with Timmy anymore. Everything felt like they were balanced on a knife and one wrong move would make Timmy go to bed and stop talking, and that was the last thing Armie wanted.

Armie always sounds so raw and honest when he says these things about Timmy. It really gets to him. He really can't say anything to that without his voice being too telling so he taps the text field instead. _Man, stop throwing compliments around you like that. One day people are going to believe you're serious about them._ He sends. Armie just keeps doing this, acting like nothing between them is over and it makes Timmy wonder. The question he's burning to ask is 'Are you happy?' Because that's really all he cares about at this point.

The text startles Armie and he fights the sinking of his heart. Maybe it went too far. Maybe he shouldn't send more voice messages either. But then he reads and rereads the text and shakes his head. His heart starts racing and he feels cold suddenly but he's not sure why. He swallows and hits record. "I am serious." He sends it quickly, knowing if he waits any longer he'll change his mind and opt for some text that doesn't reveal too much. He wants to reveal. He wants him to know he's serious, that he truly thinks Timmy is amazing. Seconds pass and he starts to grow in anxiety, this heart not slowing in the slightest. He hits record again. "Anyways, everyone says so. You're the only one who doesn't believe it now." Send. His hands are shaking and he feels too warm and cold and he's confused as to why he's having this reaction. _Should have texted him,_ he thinks. But even that might have sent him spinning.

Timmy's heart speeds up when he sees the length of what Armie had recorded. He knows this can only mean he's about to say something really stupid. Something that is going to hurt Timothée again. A second message arrives, probably trying to soothe the edges of the first Timmy shakes his head. He can't do this. He can't listen to this knowing it will make everything harder again. So he doesn't. He knows, Armie will know. So let him. Let him know there are things that are destroying him and that he has to protect himself from. But ultimately, this leads him back to the question. He has to ask him. _Armie, are you happy?_ He had made his decision. But with the way he keeps acting with Timothée, there's a strong implication he's not overly happy with it. But would he truly be happier the other way around? Wouldn't the same play out just with switched roles?

Armie is fairly certain he didn't listen and it makes everything worse. His text sinks deep into Armie's bones and he isn't sure what he should say, how much Timmy needed to know. He wasn't sure Timmy even really _wanted_ to know the truth. He sits up and leans on his knees before tapping out a response. _no._ He hovers over the send button, not sure if he should do it, if he had the right to do it. He thinks he probably doesn't. He deletes it and lets out a shaky sigh. _if you're asking you probably already know. do i have to say it?_ If he wanted him to say it, he would. But he wouldn't put that on Timmy so easily.

Armie is right although knowing would be a bit too certain. _I guessed but this just made it clear._ He hits send. He doesn't want to talk about what ifs again. He doesn't want the hope and the heartbreak. _You know I want you to be happy. But please figure out first where you are going to be before everything gets worse._ Why can't they just tease each other anymore? Why do they always have to talk until their conversation turns to this again? Timmy knows the answer and it scares him. They are desperate enough to risk it every time just to keep talking a bit longer.

There's a pressure that starts in Armie's chest and extends throughout his body, not quite painful, not quite numbing, but pressure. As if his veins had expanded and warmed slightly and no longer felt real in his body. He rereads the words and tries to focus on them, on a response, on Timmy. _i know._ he types. _im trying i promise. i dont want to make it worse either._ He hits send and wonders if he should have said something else, should he have told him what he was thinking, should he have phrased it better? He wants Timmy to know, but he doesn't want to tell him. That's what he really wants.

Timmy nods. He supposes he can live with that. He has to even. He wants to tell Armie he loves him but he knows he would say it back and it would be worse again. So he doesn't. He just tells him _ok. Going to bed now. Sweet dreams._ Perhaps Armie can decipher that. Maybe he doesn't have to actually say it for him to know. He does curl up in his blankets then ready to go to sleep.

Armie tries to find comfort in the text, knowing if he was angry with him he just wouldn't have responded. The addition of _sweet dreams_ makes him think things were still okay, that he still had a shot here. He holds onto that and tries to pull some feeling back into his limbs that didn't feel like anxiety crawling all over him. It would be fine, he just had to do what he had to do. _sweet dreams_ he texts back. He doesn't want to go upstairs and wonders if it'll be better or worse if he just stayed downstairs. If he stayed, maybe she'd think he'd made the choice to stay downstairs long ago, instead of having to explain why he was actually there. Then he realizes—he was doing it _again._ Hiding from her because he was anxious. Hiding _Timmy_ from her because he was anxious. If he was going to do this, he had to start somewhere. Perhaps going back to bed and letting her realize he spent time talking to Timmy was a good place to start.

Timmy catches the text before he falls asleep because of course he does. He wonders if it actually changed anything now that they had simply coded it. Either way, it makes him feel warm and he tries to imagine Armie next to him, around him, whispering the words into his ears. He's already filling every inch of his body so he might as well just let himself dream a little. God, he misses him by his side although he definitely didn't have him like this often. Definitely not often enough. "Armie." He mumbles as he pulls the blanket higher trying to imagine his arm coming around him and holding him tight. "I love you." He wishes he could hear it and it wouldn't destroy them. It should not be something that destroyed anything.

When Armie opens the bedroom door, he lets out a frustrated chuckle with an eye roll. She was passed out, stole nearly all the blankets, and took up the center of the bed. It was a statement and he wasn't in the mood. He doesn't even bother, just walks back out and heads down to the guest room where he sheds his shirt and jeans and crawls under the covers. He wishes he could call Timmy like they did last night but even he has to recognize it was foolish to be this desperate for him when they'd just had an entire conversation through voice messages. After awhile, he starts to wonder if Timmy knew he was trying to tell him he loved him with that last text. He thinks he probably knew, he hopes he did at least. He keeps playing Timmy's voice over in his head and he can't sleep with so many thoughts racing around, so he opens the screenshot again and notices for the first time that it was taken in Timmy's bed. He somewhat foolishly realizes what time it was in New York when they had their conversation. It was the middle of the night for him and he was in bed and he was sending voice messages. It warms Armie and he wants to go to him and make all this better. No one else would ever love him like this—how had he ever let Elizabeth convince him otherwise?

Timmy ends up caving and listening to the voice messages again, even those he hadn't listened to before. It almost makes him cry again with how sincere he sounds. Armie truly adores him and as a young man Timmy is not quite sure how he did that. He's used to not being taken serious thanks to his age, to being unable to connect with others because they thought he's lame and talks too much weird shit, is interested in boring stuff etc. They often didn't even try. Armie had been perfect from the start though and Timmy remembers him saying that he doesn't share these kind of conversation with anyone else either. _Soulmates._ Timmy hadn't thought it was possible. He unlocks his phone and goes through his pictures. The ones from Texas. Older ones with the kids when he'd hung around before the Oscars. He chooses one Harper had made of them as his new background. It's blurry and yet the look they share is undeniable. He sighs and decides he has to sleep now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some acknowledgement of the mistake he's made!!
> 
> Sorry if you left a comment and it hasn't gotten a response! Nici and I are both crazy busy a lot of the time. It doesn't mean we don't see them, though-- I check every day in passing and your comments always make me smile!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're in it now, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRYYY listen I've been all over the place and I know that's no excuse. We (I, because this was not Nici's doing) will make it up to you. Anyway.... onto the fic....hope it was worth the wait ;)

At some point, Armie drifts off to sleep with his phone barely out of his hand. It falls to the floor when he’s jolted awake by Elizabeth ripping the blankets off him. "Fuck you," he mumbles, reaching back for them and pulling them over his head. He'd barely slept at all, possibly only an hour or two total, and he felt weak and achy. She tells him to grow up and help with the kids' breakfast. He sighs--  _ so much for her good mood last night. _ She probably knew, he realizes, that he stayed up talking to Timmy. That's probably why she's so pissed even now. He gets up and wipes the little sleep from his eyes and goes down to their bedroom to put a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt on before heading to the kitchen.

Both kids are already up and Harper jumps Armie as soon as he walks in. She’s still dressed in her pyjamas and with wild hair. “Daddy are you gonna help me pick out clothes today?”

Elizabeth turns at her words. “No, sweetheart. You know he always gets it wrong. Let me do it while he does the eggs, huh? Less hassle for all of us.” She suggests and walks over to pick her up. The glance she shoots him is frosty. He better not act like she isn’t aware of what happened.

_ So she does know. _ Armie rolls his eyes as they walk away and he moves to kiss Ford's head. He starts making breakfast and tries not to worry about the fight they were going to have, but the anxiety over it just keeps building and building. He knew how the two of them fought, this was going to be brutal considering this exact fight had been happening for days now, perhaps even months if he was being honest. He isn't sure when the shoe will drop and it'll all hit the fan, but the more time that passes the worse he's going to get. When Harper and Elizabeth return to the kitchen, he almost asks if they can just fight then and there. Get it over with. But he knows that's not smart and he would never have this fight in front of the kids.

Harper scrunches her nose and keeps pulling at her bow. When Elizabeth has scolded her for the umpteenth time to let it be she pouts and runs to play in the living room. She takes Ford to change into regular clothes then. 

They have breakfast and the silence is loaded. Of course the kids notice the tension. Ford is cranky and Harper spills juice on her dress. It’s a mess but just a part of family life. In the end she and Armie have to work together again to get Harper to school in time. She brings Ford to the nanny while he drives her to school. They had decided to continue bringing Ford somewhere else so Harper doesn’t become jealous of the time they spend with him. They arrive home at the same time and slam the doors to their cars shut. She knows they’re both pent up with anger now and there’s no way they can hold it in a second longer. “You fucking bastard! What was this tonight? I thought you were coming to bed? I waited! Didn’t we have a lovely time together? How can a single human being fuck up so much shit!” She shouts and unlocks their front door.

"I lost track of time and when I came upstairs you were hogging the entire goddamn bed! What was I supposed to do, push you off? Then we'd be fighting about  _ that! _ " He follows her inside and throws his keys on the counter. "And I  _ know _ I'm fucking shit up but don't pretend you're innocent-- we've been fighting for fucking  _ years _ and I've just let you have your way. You're not angry about him-- you're angry because I finally stopped doing whatever the  _ fuck _ you tell me to do!" The anxiety was about to reach a high for him but he channeled it into anger, and that seemed to work just fine. He was afraid of an attack; the last thing he wanted was for her to try comforting him, not that she would anyway. At this point she'd probably just tell him to suffer and suck it up.

She throws hers next to his and puts her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah because now I’m the evil one here?! Yeah keep telling yourself that so you don’t have to face the real consequences of your actions! You know as well as I do you’d be fucking hopeless dealing with this. You wouldn’t even be able to put Harper into some decent clothes!” She shouts. She’s so sick of him acting like he’s the victim here. “You wouldn’t have met Timmy if it wasn’t for me pushing you to do this movie! And I’ll tell you what: I regret nothing more in my life! All those people telling you you’re so goddamn great just because they don’t have to live with you! It got to your fucking head!”

This is usually when Armie would back out, tell her he's not doing this, it's not worth it, etc. etc. etc. He knows he has to have this fight though, so he suppresses the urge to walk away and instead tries to stay in control of his own frustration and anxiety so he says what he needs to say. "Right, right, because  _ god forbid _ someone tell me I'm good at what I do.  _ God forbid _ I let myself think I'm actually worth something." He bites back the hurt and tries to be  _ angry _ because angry during a fight is  _ safe _ and his pain isn't.

“That’s not my point! You’ve got plenty of ego or you wouldn’t be an actor. But they tell you don’t make mistakes or some shit when you wouldn’t be able to manage without me. That’s a fact! You’ve behaved like the biggest douche in history lately! You could at least try to be thankful for what I’m doing for you, you know?! Besides not like acting is a real job. What do you give people but a bit of entertainment? There’s nothing substantial about it! Your head is always in the clouds, Armand!” It’s something Dru might’ve said but honestly she couldn’t care less at this point.

_ Armand. _ He hates that name. He paces for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to pull Timmy's voice from some recess in his mind telling him he's  _ good. _ "You don't respect me, that's what this is about. You don't respect me or what I do or who I am or the fact that I'm not that guy you married. You don't care about any of that," he says, trying to keep steady as his world tilts. He's not used to standing up to her like this-- not that he hadn't done it before, but he didn't often opt to continue fighting if he thought he could avoid it. "You're right-- I've been a dick lately but you're--  _ let me fucking finish _ \--" he says when he sees her ready to jump in. He glares before continuing. "You've been selfish. You never once noticed I wasn't happy and any time I told you or someone else told you, all you did was tell me to get over it and ignore him and the whole fucking thing. Well I can't ignore it. I'm not fucking happy, Elizabeth! I'm not happy." His voice sounds broken but it's still strong and loud and for that he's grateful.

She throws her hands up. “Well, guess what? People aren’t happy all the time! That’s what life is. You’re just being a drama queen about it. You actors led it get to your heads where other people have no time for stuff like that! They have to carry on and make a living you know? But of course you never were in that situation so of course you don’t know.” She rolls her eyes. “What good would it have done if I had made drama around it, too? You’re gonna get over it like you always did. You survived it the last 50 times you thought you unhappy and nothing could ever change that but here you are. Just complaining like a child again!” She’s not going to buy his bullshit.

"I didn't! God! You don't even see it!" he screams. He's not sure if he's more hurt or angry at her words but he's definitely some volatile mix of the two. "I didn't fucking survive! I feel like a part of me fucking  _ died _ and you never even noticed!" He shakes his head and lets his arms drop to his sides. "Something  _ did _ change that.  _ He _ did! He fucking changed that, and the fact that you still can't even see that--" his voice catches and he hates it. He hates that there's still a part of him that desperately wishes it didn't have to be like this, that wishes she would understand and see that he's been hurting for a long time without her.

She looks at him, coldly. She can see the tears glittering in his eyes shakes her head. “Are you going to try to manipulate me into believing you now? You’re a fucking actor, I know you can cry on cue. So honestly just leave it be. And what did Timothée ever really do for you? I mean be honest? Did he save the relationship with your parents? Lost his stunning looks twice to give you children? Is holding this goddamn family together? No! That was me. He’s just put some pretty fantasies in your head that you’re chasing now! So I can see very clearly what happened.” She makes clear. That he’s even trying to manipulate her. The audacity is striking.

He's trying to hold onto himself but it's getting harder and harder to not spiral. She wasn't going to understand, he feared. There was a time when he considered her his best friend in the entire world, when he told her all his secrets and he knew she'd keep them safe. He used to think about them growing old together and holding hands and laughing in parks. He doesn't even recognize her anymore, and he isn't sure at what point they lost that. It hurt his entire soul to listen to this because he feels guilty for what he's done and he knows it was wrong to cheat. But he can't take it back and everything she says is like a slap across the face that makes him realize he's been staying in this marriage because of guilt, not just over Timmy, but because of who he is, who he's always been. He always had people giving him grief for the things he liked, the things that he thought made him  _ him _ . He let parents and friends and strangers and  _ her _ tell him over and over again that who he was wasn't enough, or at the very least, wasn't right. Marrying her was  _ right _ and leaving her would just be another  _ wrong _ on his permanent record. 

But Timmy-- he made him feel  _ right. _ Was he just supposed to ignore that? He can't quite breathe-- he never lets himself think about any of these things because thinking about how much of a disappointment he was to so many people left him two options-- anxiety or recklessness-- and he never knew which he'd spiral down. "You've done a lot for this family, I'm not saying you haven't. I'm saying that for  _ me _ you haven't been there. And I know I haven't been there for you either but god,  _ dammit _ Elizabeth! Shouldn't that be a sign that this isn't working?"

She shakes her head and rubs her eyes. Armie is right with that. They’ve been terrible to each other lately. “And you would think it’s better if you’d fly across the country, leave me and the kids to live with him? Please. That’s a passing crush, dear. A few months with you apart and you’re fine.” She tells him. “He has friends and family in New York. How do you possibly fit in there? Look, as soon as he’s gonna get over you he’ll start dating someone for real and he won’t have as much time for a friendship that spans across a continent and several timezones. I think you’re looking for excuses. This is just a phase and it’ll pass if you just give it time.”

He's shaking his head before she can even finish and he knows, he  _ knows _ he has to tell her. He can't keep doing this, going around and around and circling the drain by putting him down. He knows it might change everything, knows it might change  _ nothing _ , but he has to say it. He feels the anxiety rushing over him and he doesn't know why because he shouldn't feel anxious about this, he doesn't  _ want _ to feel anxious about this, but it's terrifying. He knows as soon as he says it, that at least for him everything will change. Telling her is the first step to leaving, and he's far too aware of it. He thinks of Timmy, of how he held him when he woke up. He thinks about Italy and the first time they talked about their families and how he'd looked at Armie with understanding, how he held his hand and wrapped him up in his arms and told him he deserved more. He thinks of the time they watched a movie at Luca's and Timmy had tucked himself under his arm for warmth, how he smiled at him with something Armie wasn't sure he wanted to identify then. He remembers seeing Timmy in the hospital during  _ Beautiful Boy _ and how he held his hands and told him to eat something, just fucking eat  _ something _ , and how Timmy had agreed under the condition they get food together. He remembers the flight they sat next to each other, how Timmy burrowed his face in Armie's chest and told him he didn't even want to go to the Oscars if he wasn't there with him. He sees every time they confessed their hearts to each other without actually saying the words, memories strewn out over a year and a half that felt like a lifetime. He wanted him more than he even comprehended, and no matter the consequences, he couldn't live without him. 

"It's not a phase," he tells her, his voice reverent. "I'm in love with him."

She blinks and trips over her thoughts for a moment. She had known about his infatuation with him, she had perhaps also expected him to exaggerate it a little but his words do hit her and she shouldn’t have to think so hard when trying to remember the last time he’d said that to or about her. It takes her a moment to collect herself. “You mean, you  _ think _ you’re in love with him and  _ hope _ he feels the same for you. Please. You’re blinder than I thought.” She shakes her head. “In love.” She mumbles still stunned. “Look throwing lies and guesses around like that is not going to help anyone. Fine, you’re unhappy. Then tell me what you want to change. Do you need me to sit down and listen to you complain more? Do you need us to spice things up in the bedroom? Be realistic and work with me to make us better again.” She tells him.

He starts to feel desperate. "I'm in  _ love _ with him," he says again, a little breathless, a little too emotional. "We've passed the point of couple's therapy and sex, Elizabeth. This isn't working, and you know it." He knows he made a choice to be with her but he can't keep doing this. It was draining him to be away from Timmy, and he wasn't even holding true to it. Their late night conversations had been sustaining him and without those little moments, he was sure he'd spiral out of control with everything that was going on. Timmy made everything make sense, he made everything manageable and he gave Armie clarity even when he didn't realize he was doing it. He made him better, and since Armie knows this, being without him inevitably makes him feel worse.

She’s trying not to admit it, to not let it get to her but it’s getting harder as he repeats the damn words. “No I don’t. I don’t know why you’re suddenly so intent on tearing us apart, on ruining everything we built together.” She tries to wipe the unwelcome tears away without ruining her make-up. “Goddammit Armie, why don’t you even want to try?” She asks desperately.

"I  _ did _ try, I've been trying for so long, Elizabeth. I kept reaching out to you and you just let me fall," he says, everything coming to the surface. Her tears make him more emotional and he sees she's finally starting to believe him. "I wanted you to be there, but you just let me fall apart every time it got to be too much for you and this life you created for us. If I so much as mentioned how Italy changed me you shut down because it didn't fit with who you married. How was I supposed get closer to you when you wouldn't even let me talk about it?" He starts crying and hates himself for it, but he can't stop. "You told me it was a movie, god-- you were  _ there _ for part of it, you saw it change me,  and you still told me to get over it and come back to reality. I was fucking depressed, Elizabeth. You just let me dig myself into a hole and he was the only person who helped pull me out of that place."

She shakes her head unwilling to believe him, to acknowledge what he says. It would make this all too real. “But it  _ is _ just a movie. You’ve read the book before and it didn’t change you in the same way. I just- I just didn’t get what you expected from me. I thought the stability would do you good. I thought if I told you to suck it up you’d eventually get over it.” She explains. She can’t take this any longer then and steps forward, wraps her arms around his neck. “I don’t want you to leave me.” She hides her face in his chest embarrassed by her tears.

He holds her and lets himself cry for what he's losing. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his hand running over her hair. "I just can't live like this anymore." His chest aches but he knows it's for the best. They were destroying each other slowly and it was only a matter of time before one of them lost all semblance of optimism at life when they pulled each other apart in this back and forth of good and bad. "It's not fair to anyone to stay when I feel like this."

Her hands fist in shirt. She shakes her head. “It can’t possibly be that bad.” His touches feels good and that only makes her feel worse. “Please, Armie. I’ll try to be better. I promise. Give me a chance.” She begs. She can’t be losing him, this is not truly happening. She hadn’t allowed herself to truly consider this possibility before. It’s devastating to do so now. “ _ I’m _ in love with you.”

He realizes this is a slippery slope and he's afraid to get trapped again. Carefully, he reaches around his neck and pulls her arms away from him. He takes a step back and stares at the ground, shaking his head. "This isn't helping anything," he says quietly, running a hand through his hair. "I know you're upset and you have every right to be. I think we should decompress and you should process and then we can talk some more when we can catch our breath." He feels terrible for doing this to her, but he also feels terrible for all the times she let him think he wasn't good enough, for the times when he let Timmy hurt because he was still with her. He needed to do this, even if it hurt.

He’s being more rational than her and that’s honestly scary. She takes a step back and tries to collect herself. The room feels cold suddenly and she wraps her arms around herself. “Yes, okay.” Her voice sounds choked up. “I- I’ll see you later.” She turns and storms off to her office.  _ He’s in love with him and he’s serious about it. _ Realisation only seeps in slowly. Perhaps she hadn’t lost him completely yet but it’s damn close. He’s pretty determined and she knows how he can get when he wants to do something. She ends up dialling her sister’s number. She needed comfort. And some pretty good advice.

Armie feels the energy leave his body with her as she goes.  _ I did it, _ he thinks with a small smile. He could do this, he could leave her and he could go to New York. He would figure this out. He wanders around and gets a glass of water, wishing he could call Timmy and tell him but knowing that he couldn't until everything was settled. He wouldn't get his hopes up, he couldn't do that to him again. It occurs to him that he can call someone else though, and he fishes his phone out of his pocket with shaking hands. He walks outside and presses call. He thinks he won't even answer, but when he does, he smiles and sits down in a deck chair. "I was wondering when you would call. Armie tell me, how are you doing? How is your heart these days?" Armie shakes his head and stares out across the lawn with a small smile. Luca always knew.

“Your silence is an answer, too.” Luca approves of Armie calling him these days. He doesn’t know if his advice is perfect but it seems to have helped him before. “I saw Timmy’s wonderful speech in Austin. But you are home now I guess. Tell me about your heart. It will help.” He encourages him again. He’d grown fond of both of his boys and the journey they’d made while doing this movie. He feels honoured to be trusted by Armie. He truly is an exceptional human being even if he often doesn’t realise it.

"I uh..." Armie sighs and feels his heart skip a beat. "I told him I loved him, Luca."  _ Another person I've told. _ He feels a weight off his chest and he relaxes some just knowing that Luca was probably the only person who knew everything about his heart as well as Timmy's. "It felt so good, I mean it was you know, not ideal because of everything, but it felt so good. It felt right. I told Elizabeth, too. She knows. I just told her a few minutes ago, I think she believes me." He scratches the back of his neck and taps his fingers against his leg nervously.

Luca smiles softly. The pride in Armie’s voice nearly makes him as proud as the admission. “Good, good. How did Timtothée react?” He asks and leans back on the couch. Armie had come a long way since they first met. He remembers Armie’s wish not to fully read him so he tends to let him talk himself. A lot of things appear clearer when you tell them someone else.

Armie smiles, happy he chose to call him. "It's complicated I guess. He reacted well, he told me he loves me, he actually told me first. The night of The Oscars. I don't know, Luca. I just couldn't not say it anymore and then he held me and it was like... It was like  _ that _ was what I was missing, you know? Of course you know." He starts pacing, a hand in his hair. he wishes Luca were here to give him a hug and give him strength to go back inside and deal with the rest of the day with her.

Luca smiles. He’d known from the start when the day would come that Armie experiences true love that nothing would hold him back. After all nothing compares to it. “I know. I’m glad. How’s Timothée? How do you feel right now?” Even if they do text regularly Luca likes to asks how they are since you can always tell more with the tone of voice. Just like earlier when Armie had sounded so proud about finally telling people.

"Ah, he's..." Armie falters, stuffs his hand in his pocket. "I kind of fucked up. He's hurting..." Armie sits down on the grass and runs a hand through it. It reminds him of Crema between takes when Timmy would lay down and squint up at him. "I think it'll be okay, but in Austin... Luca, I couldn't deal with the guilt. I walked away from him and it's been hell ever since. I can't sleep right, I feel like I can't breathe half the time, he's all I can think about and I think he'll give me another chance but it's... he just means a lot. I don't want to mess this up again."

Luca nods. Between Armie’s anxiety and his unending love for Timothée it’s only logical he’d be scared. “But you have started to change things, you feel better about this now.” It’s more of a statement that anything else. Luca can tell. “Breathe, Armie. I think Timothée is very much willing to wait for you. Perhaps not forever but quite awhile. So do this right and you can both be happy in the end.”

Armie nods and lets out a deep sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right." He thinks for a moment and smiles. Luca didn't seem surprised at all when he told him. He realizes he must have known the entire time that this was going to happen and just let them find their own way to one another. "Thank you, for everything, Luca. Seriously, you mean the world to us, I hope you know that. You've been there for me and I really appreciate it."

How Armie still needs to express these things really showed his big heart. He also notices that “us” is no longer him and Elizabeth. “It’s a pleasure, Armie. It was a pleasure to watch you two fall in love and I’d be even happier to know that it works out for you. The bond you two share is really special and unique. It’s not something one should give up on easily.” He tells him.

"It's worth fighting for," Armie nods. He knows Luca's right and just hearing him say these things gives him more strength to settle things with Elizabeth. He knows it'll be difficult, but it'll be worth it in the end. "Listen, Luca-- I have to go. But I love you, man. I'll keep you updated, I guess." When they hang up, Armie walks through the house and sits down in the living room. The anxiety he felt is still there, but he knows he can handle it now. He was doing the right thing for all of their hearts by going after Timmy. If he didn't, he and Elizabeth would continue down this path and make each other more miserable as time went on, and that just wasn't healthy. Not to mention the damage it would do to both him and Timmy to live without each other. This was the only course of action for all of them to have a shot at long term happiness. He tries to remember this and hold onto Luca's words when he thinks about actually _telling_ her he wants out.

When Elizabeth had calmed down and built up her defences again she walks down again and finds Armie on the couch. “Hey.” She says softly, not sure what the rules were here. She sits down next to him. “Look,” She says after a moment. “I really want us to try again. We couldn’t fix it ourselves but I refuse to give us up without having talked to a professional before. I want someone not directly involved in this to give me an assessment of our situation.” She makes clear. What she’s not saying is still clear.  _ Otherwise I won’t sign any divorce papers. _

"I don't want to fix this," Armie tells her. Luca gave him strength and he's aware that it's fleeting. "I will talk to one if that's what you really want but you have to understand that--" He swallows and shakes his head. He's not sure she'll every really understand; perhaps a therapist was a good idea after all. "I want to be with  _ him _ . That's where we're at, so if you want to talk to a therapist-- fine. But you need to know that's my goal at this point." He feels anxious and shaky; he doesn't want therapy, he wants  _ out _ , but he also knows therapy might be the only way to actually get out.

Elizabeth swallows and looks away. Armie usually isn’t so determined. “I have the numbers of some great professionals. I think we are going to be fine. In fact I set up an appointment for tomorrow. Is that okay?” She asks but her voice is clinical. She’s not willing to fight further until she has someone to back her up in this argument.

_ Fine _ . Armie fights the urge to roll his eyes-- how was she not getting it? "Yeah, sure. Tomorrow." The frustration washes over him again and he knows now that he's opened up and let go of what she thinks of him, he would just end up channeling it into more yelling if he didn't walk away now. He needed air and he needed not to be so anxious over the prospect of coming out to a complete stranger. "I'm going to go for a run," he tells her, walking upstairs to change. He needed to clear his head before this got worse.

She lets him go. It’s probably a smart idea to work the frustration out. She shoots her personal trainer a message to meet her at the gym ASAP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to note that this is fiction and these responses are within the realm of this fic, as are the situations that are going to arise out of this chapter. 
> 
> Let us know what you think! Stay tuned for another update soon :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn my girl brooke really gave yall a full chapter with her editing today! Enjoy...

Timmy eventually can’t take it. He’s meeting a lot of old friends but he still finds himself missing Armie. And here they are again at the point where he’s desperate enough to risk their conversation turning to the wrong topics again.  _ Hey _ He attaches a pic of grey New York and his peace sign.

Armie's a block away from the house when he sees the text. He slows to a stop and reads it, then reads it again, stares at the picture.  _ There you are, _ he thinks to himself.  _ There's my heart. _ He looks around and sits down on the curb, his eyes returning to the picture.  i needed that. hey sweet tea He isn't sure he should even reply; would Timmy even want to hear from him if all he was going to do was hide what just happened? Therapy meant things still weren't settled, and Luca was right--he needed to take the time to do this right. He wants him, though, wants his comfort. He plays it out in his mind and knows that if he talks to him, it'll be distant because he won't tell him about Elizabeth, because telling him about Elizabeth means telling him about therapy, which would hurt. And he can't lie, because Timmy would see through it and get frustrated and he didn't want him to misinterpret his words. So that left not replying. Which would hurt them both. He covers his face in his hands. Why did it have to be so complicated? He stands and starts running, pushing himself until his lungs are screaming at him to stop and the only pain in his chest is that of exhaust.

Timmy tries to stay as engaged in his friend’s conversation as before but it’s hard when he’s constantly checking his phone. He gives it time. An hour. Two. But eventually he accepts there will be no response. He must’ve talked with Elizabeth. Perhaps things were looking good for them again, he realises. Of course he wouldn’t want to ruin that by talking to him. He can’t help feeling frustrated though and texting Pauline to work out with him. That never happens but she doesn’t ask questions. They know each other well enough.

Armie only returns home when he knows the kids will be back. He collapses on the couch and holds Ford while Harper does the latest moves from ballet class for him. He tries to focus on them but he keeps thinking about the text, about the picture. He counts hours across timezones on his fingers and knows it's too late to be bothering Luca; he'd have to deal with this himself. He ignores Elizabeth unless absolutely necessary, but every time she appears in his peripheral vision, he feels worse and worse. The confidence had worn off and reality was setting in. He'd agreed to go to therapy, and he regretted it. He didn't want to explain himself, he just wanted to leave. The too-familiar feeling of being trapped keeps pressing against him and he tries to fight it but he knows it'll win out soon enough. His chest was tightening too much and too frequently for it not to. He places a kiss on Ford's head and pulls his phone out to look at the picture again. He tries to remember that Timmy would fight for him if their roles were reversed. He can't take it anymore. He types out  _ busy day. sorry. _ It feels terribly impersonal and he nearly cries because he doesn't know how to fix this anymore. He felt like everything was spiraling without enough warning and if he so much as stepped on the wrong step he would fall to his demise. He deletes the words and takes a picture of him with Ford resting against his chest. He sends it with  _ sorry it took so long to respond. _ Again, his breathing feels tight but it's manageable. He tells himself he can do this until he starts to believe it. 

Timmy meets her in their favourite gym. They warm up together and then wrap their knuckles. Pauline volunteers to hold up the pads first and Timmy starts raining attacks. A little hesitant at first but then without pause until he’s panting and he hears her yell at him. 

“Timmy, stop!” She yells. “Stop!” 

Timmy does and pushes his hair back. “Fuck, Sorry. I didn’t-“ He pants out. 

“Yeah I know. It’s okay.” She soothes him. 

“No, it’s not! It’s not okay.” He can’t stop the sob breaking out his throat. 

“Hey Timmy.” She wraps her arms around him and holds him. “Let’s take a break.” She tells him and guides them to the wall, sliding down with him wrapped up in her arms.

“He didn’t text me back. We always spiral down the wrong paths of conversation but I still want him to talk to me.” He whines. 

“Sssh. It’s ok.” The chime of Timmy’s phone interrupts them and he jumps to look at it. 

He smiles as he sees the picture and sniffles. “Look.” He turns the phone to show Pauline. 

“Cute.” She comments. She worries about him being this easily influenced by Armie’s attention. 

“Take a picture of me?” He asks, hands her his phone and stands up. The curls fall into his face and he clenches his hands into fists striking a pose. 

“Poser.” She laughs and snaps a couple of pictures. 

She then wraps her arm around him and catches a pic of their bright laughs. “There you go.” 

He selects two pictures.  _ It’s fine. Greetings from two Chalameats. _

Armie's heart flutters when he gets the response; he wasn't sure he would hear back from him at all after waiting so long. Ford tries grabbing his phone to see what he's looking at and he smiles, offering it willingly. Ford babbles while tapping the screen until it exits out of all apps and Armie taps the camera for him, hitting record as Ford lights up and talks some more. Armie chuckles and presses a kiss to his head before ending the video and hitting send to Timmy. He couldn't describe why, but there was something incredibly comforting about pulling Timmy into his life like this. It helped settle his heart and reaffirm how necessary he is to his happiness.

Timmy doesn’t let Pauline go on when he hears he has another message. They watch it together Timmy biting his lips at the cuteness. 

“You know he loves you, right? This is basically him saying you’re a part of his family.” She points out. 

Timmy blushes. He knows she’s right and he would give everything to be with them right now. “They’re so cute, I wanna hug them, Pauline.” 

She laughs. “Why don’t I think you’ll be able to soon?” She mumbles. 

“Because you’re a romantic.” Timmy mumbles. 

_ He’s growing so fast. Give them both a kiss from Uncle Timmy. _

Armie smiles when he gets the text and replies  _ of course. they miss you almost as much as i do. _ He hesitates before sending it, wondering if it's too much. There was a constant battle of saying too much and not enough when it came to talking to him lately; it's exhausting and he just wanted everything to stop being so complicated. He hits send even though his heart seizes with worry that it's too much. He sends another text  _ im figuring all this out i promise _ and then again,  _ tell Pauline I say hi. hopefully she doesn't hate me too much _ . He has to manually force himself to stop sending so many messages by putting his phone down and asking Harper to show him some dance moves.  _ Please reply, _ he thinks, worried he's said too much.

Timmy reads the texts and his chest constricts. “Hi Pauline.” He says. 

She looks up confused until he realises what he means. “Oh hi Armie.” 

Timmy contemplates writing it but then pulls his camera up and records her. “Say it again.”

“Hi Armie.” She looks up and sees him filming. 

Timmy can pinpoint the exact moment she decides to start shit and he regrets filming something immediately. 

“Guess who wants you to come to New York?!” She says and before Timmy can stop the video she has pulled the phone out of his hands. 

She films an embarrassed Timmy who’s shaking his head. 

“So you don’t want him to come here and sweep you off your feet?” She asks. 

Timmy’s blush increases and he tries to snatch the phone out of her hands. 

“He knows how much I want him to.” Timmy complains.

Pauline stops the video and sends it before Timmy can protest. “And now, brother dearest we are going to get some dirty fast food. We deserved it after this workout.” Of course they both agree.

When Armie hears his phone ping with the new message, he tries not to be too eager in looking at it but fails. He hesitates to actually play it when he realizes it's a video and worries about Elizabeth hearing; she was in the kitchen not far away. He looks at their children and back at his phone, then back towards her. Harper is trying to teach Ford how to point his toes, though he of course has no idea what she wants of him and is happy just to play along. He kisses both of their cheeks and then walks into the kitchen, tells Elizabeth he's going to grab a quick shower, and then walks away before she can protest. She'd keep an eye on the kids, he knew. When he was alone a few minutes later, he presses play, his heart racing as the video progresses.  _ Timmy didn't send that, _ he realizes. He's not sure what to do, what to reveal, if he should just let it go by or say something about visiting. He glances at the door and hits record. "Please keep both feet firmly planted on the ground in the meantime, then," he says, hoping it sounds playful, knowing it sounds more like a promise. He knows he should wait, he should just fucking  _ wait _ until therapy when he would be more confident in his own ability to leave her...but he wants Timmy to know. He wants him to know that this isn't over for Armie, that it'll never  _ be _ over for him. He hits send.

Timmy hears his phone chime and hopes he can wait until a quiet moment to check it. Pauline already revealed more than he’d like. But of course she hears it and bugs him until he plays it. The words make his heart flutter and his hands shake. When he reaches the end of the short message he has to reply it to be sure he’s heard right. “In the meantime? Does this mean he’s coming, Pauline?” He asks her with wide and hopeful eyes. 

“I think so yes.” She nods, more serious now. She’s still afraid for him to hope and then fall back into depression. Making  _ Call Me By Your Name _ made him so happy and content--it had been a pleasure to watch--but she knows Armie can have or destroy it. 

Timmy chews on his lip before sending a short  _ will do _ . He can’t manage more without giving too much away. Of course could’ve just meant the next time he’d be back in New York for the play but with the context of the video they’d sent before that was very doubtful. Timmy sighs. He’d have to be patient.

The text comes before he hops in the shower and he knows, he  _ knows _ he should just let it go. There they were, teetering on the edge of conversations that left them breathless and desperate for a life together, yet again. The brevity of the message is really what makes Armie worry, though; they were being too honest without actually saying  _ anything _ and it made him a little crazy. He takes his shower, wishing the hot water would do more to sooth his worries. When he gets out, he glances at his phone again and sighs. He wants to tell him everything, but he knows he can't. It wouldn't be fair to put it all on him, but he also had a voice in his head telling him it wasn't fair to leave him hanging either. After walking to his room and slipping into some clothes, he paces and taps the phone against his hand. Finally, he finds the words he wants and records a voice message, hoping it would hit its mark better than a text might. "I'm not sure how much you want to know about what's happening here. I don't know what the rules are and I don't want you to hurt any more because of this. If you want to know anything just ask, seriously...I don't want to get trapped saying too much or too little, though." He sends it and tries not to think too much about what it might do to them. He was starting to lose his mind with never knowing what they could talk about, though, and with therapy tomorrow he just felt even worse. If Timmy didn't want to talk about any of the heavy stuff, that was fine. They could stay at the surface level. But he also didn't want to withhold if Timmy needed him not to. He just didn't know what he wanted, and decides that whatever Timmy wants is what Timmy will get. He's hurt him too much already to think otherwise.

Timmy is home when he gets the voice message and paces as he listens to it. The message is overall very cryptic about whether “what’s going on” is in Timmy’s favour or not. He understands Armie’s worry though and realises perhaps he’d pressured him too much. There’s a lot he wants to say and honestly- a voice message isn’t enough. He needs to call him. 

He waits breathlessly for him to accept and can’t stop the tingling going through his body when his face fills the screen. “Hey, ugh listen. You’re probably super confused right now. But first of all: I can’t ask questions about what’s going on without the slightest idea what’s happening. And second of all: man I put you under so much pressure not to hurt me. But in reality I want you to be able to tell me everything. I know you don’t want to hurt me but not knowing is probably not a good idea either. You’re gonna tell me sooner or later anyway.” He takes a deep breath. “So what I meant to say is please tell me anything you want. That’s why I called.” He explains. He’s still pacing and anxiety fills upon what Armie will say.

Armie is still pacing his own room when the call comes through, and as soon as his face lights up the screen, he has to remember to breathe. When he finishes talking, Armie sinks down onto the floor on the side of his bed. "God, it's good to see you," he mumbles, running a hand through his still damp hair. "We've basically been fighting since the flight back here, man. It just doesn't stop and I'm going a little crazy but you, I don't know, you and your messages-- I think they help. Not to her, obviously, but they help me... deal with it, I guess." He feels a little lightheaded just seeing him and he thinks  _ again _ that he was an idiot to ever think he could live without him.

Timmy smiles and feels himself blush. “That’s good. I mean- they are supposed to do that. Make you feel better that is. I- I’m sorry to hear you’re fighting. Are you dealing okay though? Considering, I mean. You told me you’re not happy, pretty much anyway. But I mean like- is it toxic or still pretty civil?” He asks trying to be a helpful and supportive friend without getting all excited about the possibilities opening up.

Armie shakes his head and looks away. "It's pretty bad, Tim. It's pretty bad." He glances up at the ceiling and swallows hard just thinking about telling him everything. Would he really want to know? "I don't know if you... I mean you probably guessed, I don't know. I slept in the guest room last night after talking to you and she kind of... she snapped and so did I." He looks back at Timmy and wonders if his heart will ever stop fluttering when he sees him, and hopes a little desperately that it always will. "She's upset about a lot of stuff, and I honestly can't blame her. But it just kind of hit me that I can be hurt and upset, too... you know? Which of course she loved that I realized that." He shakes his head.

Timmy sits down and starts bouncing his leg instead. “Man- that sounds bad. I’m sorry. I wish I could help more. And of course you can be hurt and upset, too. What the hell? Did she really not realise?” He doesn’t know how Armie feels but it’s sort of relieving to not think about every sentence twice. But what really worried him that the way he describes Elizabeth is starting to sound eerily familiar. It sounds like what he’d said about Dru in Crema. They are all possessed, he thinks.

" _ No, _ man. That's the problem, I think," Armie tells him. "She didn't know I was... hurting." The vulnerability of the words he speaks suddenly pushes Armie towards anxiety and he glances over his shoulder to double check that the door was in fact closed. "She knows now... she knows everything now." Armie sighs and stares at Timmy's face, wishing he was there and not thousands of miles away. "She's not happy."

Timmy isn’t sure what everything means but it feels pretty final. She probably knows about him. “Of course, she isn’t but- I didn’t know that. That she’s so oblivious to an important part of you, a part that made you you and yet- I thought she’s helping you with it all. Shit, this is fucked up. Don’t back down on this! You deserve to be happy.” He tells him sternly. He knows about Armie’s tendencies to believe he’s not good enough after all.

Armie knows this is the part where he should tell him about their conversation today and about agreeing to therapy. Something is holding him back though, and he's sure it's the fear of pushing away what little hope Timmy might have left. "Listen, I...you need to know something," he says softly. "I am  _ trying _ not to back down." His heart was racing and he wished he could take the words back so he didn't have to follow them up but he also knows he should tell him, warn him perhaps, because this was about him, too. "But I had to agree to something I don't like, something you won't...I need you to know that this has nothing to do with you or how I feel, it's a means to an end and I don't want to do it but this is the place where she's at right now and I'm sorry but I have to do it... she wants to try couples therapy and I know it's insane but I don't think I have a choice so I'm...doing that. I guess. Maybe just once to make her understand, but...I'm sorry, god, I shouldn't have told you that," Armie scolds himself, presses his fist against his forehead. "I'm sorry, that was so stupid, see this is what I meant-- I don't know what I should be telling you, I don't want you to get hurt but you're all tied up in this shit, too, and god, it's a fucking mess, Timmy. It's such a mess, everything is a mess." By the time he finishes, he's on the verge of tears and his voice is quiet and frantic.  _ Please don't give up on me, _ he thinks, because if he does, Armie will have lost everything in the pursuit of making amends.

Timmy’s chest aches as he sees Armie’s struggle, his naked desperation. “Hey, Hey, it’s okay. I told you I only want  _ you _ happy. And if that couple therapy helps you then that’s good, too.” He sees Armie shake his head frantically. He’s on the verge of falling apart and it kills Timmy that he can’t be there to hold him. “But you don’t have to want this of course! You can- there’s therapy when one spouse absolutely wants out and you talk about how that happens.” He suggests softly. “There’s a name for that-“ He wants Armie desperately to look better. “Hey, I love you, it’s okay. It really is.” He assures him.

"It's not okay," Armie says. He puts the phone on the floor and covers his face; he didn't want to cry in front of him again. It didn't feel fair somehow, to cry when Timmy deserved to be the one in tears more. The thought crashes over him with full force for the first time that she wasn't going to let him go, not without a serious fight at least. Therapy was step one, and if he couldn't end it there, he wasn't sure he'd ever get out. The air sputters out of him too fast and shallow. "I miss you so much," he says softly, uncertain if Timmy can even hear, though he doesn't know if he even wants him to. It was selfish to miss him, he tells himself. Cruel even. But he knows that isn't true; he'd learned enough by now to know he had no control over his heart.

Armie doesn’t look good and it scares him. What if she doesn’t let him go? Armie looks desperate and not willing to put up with her. It’s cruel that they’re so far apart when Armie seems on the verge of a panic attack. “Armie, Hey. Breathe. Breathe. We are going to get you out of there. I promise but first you gotta breathe with me.” In his head he was contemplating what he could possibly do and decides to call Nick as soon as he has calmed Armie down enough. “I miss you, too and I promise we’ll see each other.” He can’t believe how quickly prospects had changed for him. Armie is willing to fight for him, to get out of his marriage. It makes his heart beat out of his chest but he has to stay calm for Armie’s sake right now.

Armie nods, picks the phone back up and tries to focus on Timmy's eyes as he breathes. He's right, it would be okay. Armie just has to remember what he's fighting for. That he's fighting for  _ this, _ for this man and this love and this life with him. "I'll come see you. I don't know when. But I'll come find you. I'll find you," he tells Timmy. Saying it makes it real, like a promise, and somehow soothes his worry in some small way. Even if he can't say he's free to be with him yet, he can at least give him this.

Timmy nods and bites his lips, now trying to hold back tears of happiness after all. “Yes. Of course. You’ll come home.” He says quietly. He sees Armie calm and steady a bit and it helps settling his own panic a little. “It’ll be fine. Great even.” He promises and smiles but doesn’t know how convincing it looks with the tears in his eyes.

"Home," Armie repeats, nodding slowly. "Listen, I want to keep talking to you, believe me. But I probably need to go back to the kids before she comes looking for me." It kills him to walk away but he knows he has to with tensions running this high at home. To be honest, he's surprised she hasn't called for him yet. He wonders if she knows why he keeps disappearing, if she would dare say anything or store all the anger up for therapy. Perhaps it doesn't matter.

“It’s okay. Kiss the little ones from me yes?” Timmy tells him. “I love you. You can do this.” He assures him before they end the calls. He sits there stunned for a moment. Then the energy breaks out of him with a burst. He jumps up and down screaming in joy. He calls Pauline breathless and still running through his flat. She’s happy for him but also clears his head a little. Wait. She said. This isn’t safe yet. 

When he ends the call with her he feels focused enough to call Nick. He picks up. 

“Hey Nick, bro. I know we haven’t talked in forever and it sucks but I have to call in a favour.”

"Well, hey there Timmy. Long time no see--so is that all I am to you now? A favor machine?" Nick smirks and sips his coffee, glancing around the cafe he was at. It wasn't very busy, but they usually had live music at night so he knows it would only get worse as it got later. The call from Timmy is as good an excuse to leave as anything, so he stands and walks out the door, smiling at an attractive group who enters after him. "What's up?" he asks once he's outside and the noise subsides. It  _ had _ been awhile since he'd seen or talked to Timmy. His voice was nice, though distant and lost in thought.

Timmy brushes a hand through his hair and tries to bring his thoughts in order. “Okay, so I talked to Armie earlier and uh-“ he realises he doesn’t actually know how much Nick is aware of everything that’s been going on and how much he’s allowed to tell him. “So this is a bit of a long story but the point is I need you to look out for Armie. Go by his place, distract him, shield him a bit from Liz.” He explains. “I can tell you what happened but you might want to get comfortable.” He warns.

Well  _ fuck _ . Nick shakes his head a little and looks around him, tucking a hand into his back pocket. So he was finally doing it. He truly wasn't sure he'd ever get the balls to tell her he wanted out--he was impressed. That is, if this was where this "story" was headed. "Don't tell me--he told her he wants out?" Nick didn't mind Elizabeth most of the time. In fact, he found her entertaining often. But he also got to leave when he was tired of her and didn't have to share a bed with her. So he gets it. "Damn. When? He hasn't told me yet--wait, is that what it is? Shit, tell me that's what it is." If that  _ wasn't _ what they were talking about, then he just fucked up. Armie had been talking and talking about this for a year now, but he'd never mentioned it to Timmy. At least, not that Nick knew anyway.

Timmy nods. “Yes, yes it is.” He still can hardly believe but since Nick had already suspected it, it relieves him of a weight. This wasn’t only because of the Oscars and Austin. This had been coming much longer. “She’s pressured him into couples therapy and--man he nearly freaked out. I thought he was going to have a panic attack and I’d be unable to do something because I’m a continent away.” He sighs and lets it sink it. He doesn’t know whether he should tell Nick about them. Whether he’s allowed to but then again Nick is not exclusively only Armie’s friend anymore. They had long ago bonded themselves. “Nick, uh, Armie might be coming to New York when he gets out.” He says quietly hoping to hide the squeal in his voice. He had to share his excitement with him.

Nick's walking around, wandering really, wondering what else Timmy might reveal. He smirks when he says it. "Ah, so he told you then. How he feels. Good, I was getting impatient. I thought  _ I'd _ have to tell you and god that would be awkward. Can you imagine? Hey Tim, how's it going? Our best friend is deeply in love with you and in denial, anyway when you visiting next?" He laughs, and then thinks perhaps Armie hadn't quite told him  _ that _ much and shakes his head. Oh well. He knew now either way. "Well, what do you want me to do? Go distract him, you said? Why, is she on a rampage again?"

Timmy feels his heart warm. Deeply in love with him. Armie is deeply in love with him. It’s like a fucking fantasy. “Again?” Timmy winces. “Well, she has pressured him into agreeing to therapy and he feels really guilty for that. I think a discernment therapy would be best for them. Maybe you can make this happen? But mostly I just want you to take his mind off those things. He really looked like he might spiral and get lost in his worries any moment. I worry.” He explains.

"Ah, fuck, Timmy. Therapy? God." He wishes he was surprised, but Nick really can't say he is. "No shit he's going to spiral. He thinks all therapy leads to talking about his family and you know he  _ loves _ doing that." He's suddenly pissed. He's known them for more years than he can count and the amount of times he'd watched Armie spiral because of his family wasn't a number he cared to remember. She knows this, she  _ knows _ that he has anxiety over this sort of stuff. "When did she ask him? How much time has passed? I'm getting in my car now." The more time that passed the worse Armie got with this stuff.

Nick’s word don’t exactly reassure Timmy. He realises there are things even he doesn’t know about Armie yet. “I’m not sure. We only talked about it today. But I don’t think it was that long ago. Yesterday maximum.” He rubs his eyes with his free hand. “Please look out for him yes? I- he was so happy when- well. This is just an awful situation.” He gets his laptop fired up and looks up the next flights to Los Angeles just to calm himself down.

"Okay good," Nick replies as he shuts the door of his car. He worried about Armie a lot these days, but if he got to this point with Timmy that had to mean he was finally dealing with all the stuff he kept bottled up. He tells himself it's a good thing and doesn't worry too much about it. At this point, it would probably only be bad if he shut down, honestly. "I'll go over there and hang out for awhile to make sure things are cool. I know I'm no  _ Timothee Chalamet _ but I guess I'll have to do," he adds with a smirk.

Timmy has to grin. He likes Nick for those teasings that can destroy any heavy atmosphere. “Ah shut it, you idiot. I’m not sure if Armie would like to know I send you so perhaps just say you planned to show up. Armie will probably conclude it anyways.” He sighs. He wishes he could go over to Armie’s too and hold him. Or just goof around a little. “Tell me if it gets worse. I’ll drop everything and get a flight.” He informs him.

Nick puts him on speaker and types out a quick text to Elizabeth about dropping by for dinner before he starts driving. "Nah, man. It'll be fine, I'm sure. He's probably just desperate now that he knows he can have you." He wasn't too far from their place, thankfully. "Seriously, he's probably just worried he'll screw it up somehow. I'll talk some sense into him, no big deal." About a year ago, Armie got drunk and told Nick everything. He'd been absolutely terrified he'd lose everything and end up alone, a fear that had sustained his denial of happiness for far too long. It was time he let go of that, and it seemed like he was finally on the verge of doing so. He just needed someone to remind him to stop freaking out and look at what he was doing it for. It would be fine.

“It is a big deal. Thank you, Nick.” Timmy meant it, too. He probably would be on his way to the airport if he hadn’t known Nick well enough. Telling more and more people makes it feel more real. More like it’s really happening. “I still can’t believe this is really happening. Thanks man. You’ll get a wedding invitation.” He half jokes. But in all seriousness he feels a lot safer to know someone who knows Armie so well would be there to help him through it. Not that Timmy wouldn’t try to be there for him, too. It’s just harder when you’re 4,000 miles away.

"Ha! Please, as if I won't be a best man," Nick teases. He can see it, actually. It made him smile and he wonders if they really were at that point yet-- it wouldn't be terribly surprising if they were. "Anyways, I'm almost there so I'll text you later alright? Don't worry too much." He knows that's useless, but he feels he should say it anyway. If there was one thing Nick knew about Armie and Timmy, it's that they worried too much about the other person  _ any _ time they were away from each other. It was sweet at first, endearing even. It was slightly irritating when they'd been apart for a day and Armie already had that sad look in his eyes. Nick wasn't sure why it took them so goddamn long to admit they were in love--they were so fucking obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. You're stressed about this two chapters left thing. Looking at the doc, though... there's still quite a bit of story here. These aren't going to be short last chapters, I assure you lol. Stay tuned to see how Coming Home wraps up :')


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therapy's a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALMOST THERE!!! This is fiction yall. This is super important for this content right now. You guys... it’s fiction and the way we portray things in here is in service to the development of the story, the resolution of this fic, and the characters as they’ve evolved throughout this story. Thank you so much for the continued support!

Elizabeth looks up from her phone when Nick’s text comes in. “Honey did you invite Nick? He just texted me that he’s coming over.” She asks from the kitchen in the direction of the living room where Armie’s holed up with the children.

The second she says his name, Armie rolls his eyes with a small smile.  _ Timmy. _ "No, but he mentioned wanting to come over once we got back. Sorry, forgot to mention it," he replies, covering for him. It had to be Timmy's doing, but he wouldn't complain. It might be nice to have another person over to act as a buffer, and Nick knew the routine enough to understand when Armie just needed someone in the room and when he needed him to be the one talking and distracting Elizabeth so he could breathe. He grabs his phone and selects Nick's contact.  _ hey I don't know if you had plans that you just canceled or anything but seriously, thanks man. _ He sends it off and knows he'll understand. When the  _ your boyfriend says hi _ text comes through he laughs and lets out a sigh of relief for what feels like the first time all day.

Nick has a spare key so he just lets himself in. He throws a look into a living room and nods to Armie gesturing towards the kitchen. Chores first. 

“Hey Elizabeth.” He smiles and wraps her in a hug. “New baking experiment? No rest for the wicked huh? Smells fantastic.”

They have a small talk that’s thankfully short before he can slip away to the living room. “Hey there, bro!” They fist bump before going in for a hug. They are both aware Elizabeth can hear them so they stray into the garden. “I approve of him. He does care a lot.” He wraps his arm around Armie’s shoulder. For the first time in his life Armie had the chance to be truly happy. He just has to take the leap.

"He cares too much, is what he does. I'm trying to accept it, you know? I don't know. I just wish this shit with her was over. I told her off, you'd be proud. I even told her she didn't respect me.  _ God _ it felt so good." He smiles and leans against the house, his eyes skirting back inside to the kids who were playing with some doll of Harper's. He didn't know if Timmy told him everything, but figured he knew enough to have rushed over here from who knows where. "She's dragging me to couple's therapy tomorrow," he says quietly.

Nick had liked the outgoing and confident Armie he got to know once. When he found out that all this is just a facade he’d known he had found someone he could trust, a lifelong friend. He just wishes that Armie, kind, caring, loving Armie had always deserved: to be happy. If someone could teach him it’s certainly Timothée. “Yeah about that Timmy mentioned something called discernment therapy. Have you looked into that?” He asks.

"She found a therapist already, man. We're going tomorrow, I don't know what that'll do." He looks away and considers it. They knew a couple who did that a few years ago and ended up staying together. He knew it was for couples who were split with what they wanted out of therapy though. It made more sense. "I feel like I'm on the edge of a knife. If I suggest it she might lose her mind. But I don't want to go to whoever she was able to pull strings with last minute either." Maybe they could find a counselor, but he didn't know where to start. "Dude, I just got to get this over with. I'm trying not to freak out about it but I just really need it to be over."

It is probably the random luck of the universe which comes to their aid in the end. Elizabeth’s head appears in the kitchen window. 

“I just got a text, dear. The kids of the therapist have fallen ill and she won’t be able to meet us tomorrow. Is it okay if we just wait then until she has time?” 

Nick turns to look at Armie and sees him hesitate.  _ That’s what I’m here for. _ he tells himself. “Actually, Armie and me just talked about this. I know someone else. You can try that.” He actually does not know someone but he surely can pull some strings. 

He sees her face become stricken but eventually she nods. “Okay, Fine.” 

She trusts him more than Armie at this point, Nick realises and she thinks he isn’t definite on a side. Perhaps even wants them to get back together. Oh well, that’s going to be fun.

When she leaves, Armie smirks and turns to him. "You don't have someone, do you?" Nick gives him a look and he laughs. "Well, I hope you  _ do _ have some strings to pull somewhere." It felt better to have him there, lightening the mood of everything. He was usually pretty laid back and hanging out with him always made things more manageable at home. They head inside and Harper is on Nick in an instant, yelling and telling him about her day. Elizabeth tells her to be quiet but no one else seems to mind. Ford chimes in saying the words he knows as loud as he can, and something about the chaotic moment makes Armie's heart fill up and spill over. He couldn't lose the kids, that was the only thing. He had to do therapy or whatever the fuck she needed so he could at least see the kids.

_ Hey lovely. How are you feeling? _ Timmy isn’t sure how much exactly he’s allowed right now but he wants to know whether Nick is helping, how the kids are and of course about everything Armie is  willing to share. Besides he’s still riding high on the realisation he might really get Armie and it makes him heady.

Armie smiles at the phone, particularly the "lovely," which he didn't realize he'd even enjoy. He looks around his living room that was very much  _ alive, _ and records a short video of Nick tickling a squealing Harper with Ford toddling in the background and sends it.  _ thank you, I needed this. I'm good. _ It's not the complete truth, but he did at least feel  _ better _ and that was a start. He could handle it at this point and actually enjoy his family, so that was a win in his book.

So he knows. It isn’t actually surprising. Timmy had never pegged Armie for a brainless guy. He wishes he could be there though and contribute to the mess.  _ youre welcome :) don’t let it get you down _ He reminds him. Damn he really wishes he could just hop on a plane. But he’s almost sure right now his presence would only make things more difficult.

_ thanks timmy. you're the best. _ It's all he can really manage, but he hopes he understands. One day he wouldn't hold back from expressing everything he felt for him. He puts his phone in his pocket and grabs Ford, spinning in a short circle with him. They decide to put on a movie for the kids and Armie gets it set up while he nudges Nick to go figure out the therapy situation since he dug them into a hole with that. He sits with Harper on one leg and Ford on the other and hugs them closer to him while he waits.

Nick is busy makes a few dozen phone calls. There aren’t that many therapists, fewer good ones and almost none willing to get a meeting tomorrow. He manages though and comes back to Armie with a triumphant face and an address. “There you go. 2pm tomorrow. Be on time.” He tells him. Harper throws herself across Nick’s lap so Armie has one hand free to take the note.

"Thanks, man. That charm of yours is finally coming in handy," he jokes, though he  _ is _ grateful for him stepping up; it meant Armie worried about one less thing. When Elizabeth comes in to see what they're all up to, he passes her the note and looks back to the screen, hoping it wouldn't result in a drawn out conversation. She asks what it is and he glances up. "Nick got us a session," he explains, shrugging and looking away. He wonders if she had any idea that Nick was just as anxious for Armie to get out of the marriage as he was himself. Probably not, he decides.

Nick smiles at her, tries to increase the trust she had in him. He wonders if this is just as bad? If this is manipulation just as she’d done countless times with Armie? Surely not, getting him out of there can’t count as much as a lifetime full of this, not only by Liz but that’s not the point. “An afternoon session. She wants to get to know you and then you’ll see what best actions to take next.” He tickles Harper then to distract her from the topic. He’s sure she’d already heard and sensed enough to know something is up.

Elizabeth acts like she might say something but Armie looks pointedly at the kids and raises his eyebrows. She nods curtly and walks away, already reaching for her phone. He's not sure if it's to call someone to vent or to go on Instagram. He doesn't care. The fact that he had to go to therapy was still making the back of his neck tingle, a thought passing through him every couple of moments that  _ this is not good. _ He ignores it to the best of his ability because logically he knows it can't be  _ that _ bad, but still. The movie helps, and so do the kids and Nick. But he couldn't stop feeling like he was just passing time until the shoe dropped.

Nick sleeps on the couch that night. It’s nothing unusual when he’s been drinking that he stays over. Armie had moved into the guest room though so Nick made do with the couch. They actually fought over this for awhile but eventually Nick shuts him up with the words, “I don’t want your boyfriend to come complain.” So he leaves him just as Harper slips in. She’s supposed to be in bed but her face is stricken so she doesn’t get scolded outright. 

“Dad.” She says and climbs up and into his lap. “Are you and mommy fighting?” She asks quietly and cuddles into his chest.

In an instant, Armie's heart shatters in her tiny palms. "Hops," he shakes his head and pulls her closer for a tight hug. "Honey, I don't want you to worry about that, okay? Everything is going to be okay." He thinks back to his own parents fighting when he was young, to all the stories he'd heard from his friends. He thought he'd have more time before she started noticing, but of course she would see it. "We love you so very much and that's what's important." He presses a kiss against her hair and fights tears just thinking about putting her through this. Ford wouldn't remember, but she would. Her earliest memories would be of this, the fighting, the separation; in 20 years she'd look back at her childhood at this exact moment. He hated it.

She looks hugs him back, as tight as she can. She’s heard many stories from her friends who’d heard stories from their relatives and so on. It scares her. “I don’t want you to fight. Can’t you be happy? Do we have to move away then?” She asks, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She doesn’t want to leave, she doesn’t want to leave either of her parents even if mommy’s bow ties were annoying. “I don’t want to lose my friends. And mommy. I don’t want this, daddy.” She complains. She’s still at an age where if you just complain hard enough your parents will undoubtedly do everything in their might to help you.

"Stop, Hops, please. It's going to be okay, please don't worry. Let's just go to bed, do you want to stay here with me?" He's desperate, he isn't ready for this conversation, he's not even sure if he's allowed to have it without Elizabeth, especially before they've even said the word "divorce" outright. She'd never forgive him for saying something before talking to her, he couldn't do that. He runs a hand over her hair and presses his lips to her forehead a few times trying to calm both his daughter and himself down. How did people do this? This was terrible.  _ Think of Timmy, _ he tries to tell himself, but it hurt. This  _ hurt _ , to hold his daughter and know there was nothing he could say, to know that she understood enough to know something was wrong but not enough to grasp the situation. There was nothing to do but wait until they had a plan, and he hated it.

“Okay.” She nods and they crawl under the covers. “Daddy, when is Uncle Timmy coming to visit us again? He always makes you happy.” She points out and snuggles into his chest as he turns the lights off. There are many things she doesn’t understand about this yet, so she trusted her parents to show her how to deal with this. And if her dad said it would be okay then she trusted him that it would be.

"I don't know honey. Soon, I hope," he says, because it's true and she's too smart to know otherwise. It breaks his heart that he can't even tell her about  _ this _ , but she's so little and anything about this situation that was said needed to be done with care. He pulls the blankets up around them and tries not to think about everything crushing him and instead focus on how much he loves his kids, how important they are and wonderful. Even if nothing else, she had given him these two perfect kids, and for that he was thankful.

Elizabeth is close to losing her mind when she can’t find Harper in her room the next morning. She rushes to the guest room in desperate hope. 

“Thank god you’re here.” She takes a deep breath and puts her hands on her hips. “You are aware you have your own room, young lady?” She scolds her. “You are big enough to sleep on your own by now, aren’t you?” She says sternly. “Come on, up you go.” She nods towards the door. 

Harper hides her face in her father’s chest. “I’m just scared he’ll go.” She says quietly. 

Elizabeth shoots Armie a warning glance. What had he told her?! “He’s not going anywhere, sweetheart. You however need to go to school now. Come on!” 

“I want daddy to dress me today. Or I’m not going.” She protests. 

Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “Do you really want to embarrass yourself?”

“He’s not embarrassing! He’s my dad!” Harper tells her off. 

“She is truly your daughter. Deal with it.” She says unwilling to start the day off with a fight.

Armie sits up slowly and looks at Elizabeth. "Please don't start," he says firmly, swinging his legs off the bed. He waits until Harper has run out of the room and then turns sharply towards her. "She came in here asking if we were going to have to leave. She asked when he was going to come back--you know why? Because she said he makes me  _ happy. _ She's young but even  _ she _ sees what's going on, Elizabeth. You're the only one who doesn't." With that, he turns and follows Harper's little footsteps to her bedroom. He watches as she dances around and tosses clothes at him when he asks what she wants to wear. He helps her into a pair of pink pants and a shirt with some writing on it. He combs her hair and puts some shoes on her before letting her climb on his back and walking out into the living room to get her some breakfast, hoping she didn't spill so he wouldn't have to help her frantically change before leaving.

That Hops thinks Timmy would do Armie good worries her. For one, she really can’t believe it’s that bad and she wonders whether she had just picked it up from someone. Second of all she’s afraid her own daughter would turn against her. “No bow? No skirt?” She asks skeptically but relents when Harper shoots her a glare. “Fine, Fine.” They eat breakfast together with Harper pouting and the adults shooting each other glares. 

When it’s time for Armie to bring her to school she picks Harper up and peppers her cheeks with kisses. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Harper nods and kisses Elizabeth's cheek before returning to Armie's side. He holds her hand and glances back at his wife with a curt nod. It unsettled him that Harper knew something was up; it made a difficult situation downright miserable. He wanted to leave more than ever now that he knew it was useless to protect the kids from what was happening, yet he desperately didn't want to walk away because they meant so much. He never wanted them to doubt his reasons for leaving,  _ never _ wanted them to think it had anything to do with how much or little he loved them. It worried him endlessly on the drive to her school, and even when she hugged him goodbye with a kiss and a sweet smile. He couldn't keep doing this, whatever this limbo was. It was killing him.

Elizabeth let Armie be for the rest of the day. She is talking menu designs for the bakeries while he’s lounging outside. Eventually the time comes that they have to leave. When they meet at the car she can see how tightly wound Armie is. She isn’t aware why this is torturing him so much. She has to tell him off for bouncing his leg all the time. “My god you’re acting like you’re being led to your slaughter.”

Armie doesn't know how to reply to that; a part of him  _ did _ feel like that, though a part of him just wanted it over with. "I'm only doing this because you asked me to. I don't want to be here," he tells her. He didn't know what to expect, how much they would ask him about their marriage, why it was falling apart, etc...but he  _ knew _ they'd end up talking about Timmy and he was nervous. He wanted out of the marriage, so he worried she would seem like the victim. Not that there necessarily were victims, but he still worried. The last thing he wanted was to go in there and end up agreeing to working it out. He was terrified he'd be so vulnerable that she would latch onto the idea, and he'd be so desperate to make it stop that he'd agree. He did  _ not _ want to be here. "I'm not here to fix this, just remember," he tells her, hoping like hell that she'll believe him.

Elizabeth grits her teeth. He's suddenly very determined and she suspects Timothée had talked that into him. Surely, there's a way to get him back on track. "That's no way to head into therapy." She tells him. "Why don't we go there with an open mind?" She pulls into the driveway and parks their car. The therapist had their office in a big office building which seemed rather impersonal from the outside. They are directed to one of the upper floors and take the stairs up without saying another word. They pass the sign at the door announce the office of Dr Karen Pickstein, Discernment Counselor. Inside they were enveloped by warm colours, traditional African masks on the walls, and overall a homey instead of clinical and impersonal atmosphere. "Well, that looks nice, doesn't it?" Elizabeth offers but only gets a nervous nod from Armie. He seems not at all soothed by the atmosphere. They walk into the real office then, which is dominated by a large, slightly cluttered desk. Behind it, on a comfortable looking leather chair, sat a young, black woman with a mob of black hair and a pair of funny, red glasses on her nose. 

"Mr and Mrs Hammer." Her smile is bright and welcome. "Please take a seat." She stands up though to shake both of their hands.

Armie smiles politely as Dr. Pickstein explains what will happen. They'll be together first, and then she'll talk to them separately--Armie's glad he'll at least have some chance to explain himself without Elizabeth berating him for his reasoning being poor. She asks them what they were hoping would come from their visit and Armie shakes his head, already anticipating Elizabeth's answer. "I just want out," he says quietly. The more often he says it, the more he wants it. The doctor seemed nice--she had kind eyes, even--but he was already nervous to talk about their marriage and feared Elizabeth's charm and manipulation might pull him back in. He had to stay strong, and he tells himself this repeatedly.

Elizabeth sighs. “I’m sorry, I told him to come here with an open mind. I’m ready to do whatever you think is best.” She smiles. She’s not yet sure how to take the woman. Her expression is open and friendly enough but that could just as easily be a mask. What does she want to gain from this meeting? Does she just like splitting couples up? Or is she honestly interested in their best?

Armie glances at her but doesn't say anything. She was too composed--it made him nervous.  _ She thinks they'll tell us to stick it out, _ he realizes. He looks back at Pickstein and swallows. "Well that's alright. I'm here to help the two of you decide what's best for each of you moving forward. I appreciate the honesty. Why don't you start with telling me what led you to this counselling session? Why are you here?" 

Armie isn't sure he should answer first; Elizabeth was the one who wanted to come after all. He caves, though, too anxious to stay quiet. "I'm in love with someone else and this marriage hasn't been working for a long time even if she doesn't want to admit it." The words spill out of him almost unconsciously. He stares at his hands.

Armie’s phrasing is offending and she has no qualms telling him so. “First of all you’re the only one who thinks that. I say it’s completely normal to fall into a routine. It got boring and you looked for a distraction.” She turns back to the therapist. “Sorry, I just--I don’t want him to give this up easily, you know? Something that I feel he’s been doing.” 

Pickstein nods. “That’s fine as well. Elizabeth, you think he’s been giving up to easily. What have you personally done to save this marriage?” She asks. 

Elizabeth is surprised by her question. She remembers not taking his concerns seriously until he appeared with a blissed out face in their hotel room. “Well, I tried to create couple moments again. Going jogging together, movie evening with wine and cheese. These kinds of things.” She explains. 

Pickstein nods before turning to Armie. “How have you experienced that? What have you done to save your marriage?” She asks him now.

Armie looks between them and sighs. "She's going to roll her eyes at me," he mutters. "Look, I know you think we've been fine until Austin but you're lying to yourself. I haven't been happy in a long time, and at first I tried really fucking hard to be happy with you. When I got back from Italy, I tried like hell to push myself back into routine with you. I tried  _ everything _ I could think of, because believe it or not I  _ wanted _ this to work, I didn't want to be haunted by that place. I'd make dinner, I'd watch movies with you, we'd go on weekends away just us to get this back..." He shakes his head again. There was that pressure, a steady thing against his heart threatening to explode. "I stopped talking to him for awhile, I went on vacation with you instead of his birthday party, I even took you to Italy before press started to try to pull apart those memories and put you there instead, I fucking  _ tried. _ " The pressure was building, and he knew he should stop talking, but it just wouldn't stop pouring out of him. He feels like he's on trial pleading his case for his future. In some ways, he is.

Pickstein nods. She doesn’t offer an overly sympathetic expression, though. That’s not why they were here. 

“That was you  _ trying _ to get us back together? I thought it was just us. I thought you were fine with how things were?” Elizabeth says confused. 

“So, Elizabeth, you are or were okay with how things were going?” Pickstein asks her. 

“I- Well, yeah, I mean... we were a bit more distant than usual but our job had us tied up. He was doing movies while promoting and I jump back and forth between my kids and my bakeries, so I thought we were doing fairly well to squeeze in this couple time. Apparently, he didn’t get the same out of it.”

Pickstein acknowledges that and turns to Armie. “So, Mr Hammer, you’ve put great efforts in trying to get your feelings back for her. What do you think would have to change so that you can still work out?”

The pressure was building and he couldn't make it stop. He'd been through this enough to know that if he couldn't get it together soon he might lose his ability to keep a calm demeanor. He wasn't always like this; he used to be far more capable of handling his emotions. "I don't know," he admits. "I'm not sure there's anything." He steadies his breathing with deep breaths and stares at the floor. "I don't think this is healthy anymore. Even when I tried talking about this stuff...you didn't listen. And then I realized--you  _ never _ listened when I talked about that stuff. We've been together for so long, how have you not noticed?"  _ Breathe, _ he reminds himself, his eyes darting back to the floor. He wants to call Timmy. "What would we have to change? Everything. We'd have to be those people who fell in love almost a decade ago. We'd have to be them again because the you that you are, and the me that I am--we don't work anymore. And I'm glad, Elizabeth--" he looks at her, "I'm glad that I haven't been hurting you all this time, but that doesn't mean you haven't been hurting me." His voice is shaking, his hands knotted together tightly, his leg bouncing. He was losing his grip but it felt almost euphoric to finally say it.

"Thank you, Mr Hammer." Pickstein offers him a soft smile and turns to Elizabeth giving him a moment to breathe but before she can say anything she gets interrupted by her. 

"I'm- I'm sorry. I didn't know that, I- I honestly can't see what I did to hurt you. Even when- even in Austin I reacted pretty softly I think. I instantly worked on us getting back together, didn't I?" She asks. "I was and am still willing to save our marriage because I don't see what I could have done that would warrant such a drastic accusation. You cheated- you were the one who cheated in him as soon as things didn't go as you wanted." She snarls and crosses her arms in front of her body.

Pickstein looks from one to the other and seems to see the way Armie is struggling. "Mrs. Hammer-"

"Chambers." She hisses.

Pickstein raises her eyebrow very slightly. "Alright. Mrs Chambers, could you elaborate why you think you got to this point that you had to ask for my help?" 

"I didn't want  _ your _ help. I wanted to consult a couple therapist who does everything in their might to get us back together... not *this*. But I guess it's because he fell in love with his friend or so he says and then cheated on me coldheartedly while I had sent him to talk things out with him. He just came back with the most blissed out face. It was pretty inconsiderate and bold if you ask me." She makes clear. She doesn't want to go into too much detail but she can't let Armie pull her on his side by playing the poor victim. He had yet to name one thing she did to hurt him.

"Because I was happy, god forbid." He clenches his jaw and tries not to engage. Ever since he started fighting back, it was this uncontrollable urge to keep doing it, though. "My cheating didn't start this, Elizabeth. I never would have fallen for him if we were okay. For the record, I held back for a long ass time with him because I was married and I didn't want to cross that line. But honestly, at a certain point, I had to be honest with myself--  _ this doesn't work! I'm not happy, and he makes me so fucking happy, _ " he says, his eyes welling up. Why would I choose to be unhappy, Elizabeth? Why would anyone choose that for themselves?" He turns to Dr. Pickstein and hopes, desperately, that she'll understand. 

"Has this unhappiness led to fighting for the two of you? Have you tried to get help before for this?" she asks. Armie shakes his head but keeps her gaze. 

"We've always fought, I usually try not to get into it with her but it's gotten worse lately." He takes a deep breathe and exhales, runs a hand through his hair, and says, "We haven't sought help, she didn't realize I was hurting."

“Honestly I still don’t see the point. You’re  _ unhappy _ because we had a fight now and then which, as you said, you always bowed out from.” She says. It’s true that Armie hardly cries in public if he could avoid it, even in private actually, but he’s still an actor and should not be underestimated. Elizabeth doesn’t understand why he’s behaving like he’s the victim here when he’s simply swapping her for a younger, male model. 

Pickstein interrupts them softly but firmly. “I would like to you separately not and I’d like to start with Mr Hammer.”

Elizabeth throws him a furious glance but leaves the office. She watches him exhale deeply once the door closes. “Mr Hammer would you elaborate on the ways you feel she has hurt you.”

Armie nods and looks around the room, gathering his thoughts. He tells himself this is okay, safe even. He can do this. "Look, she tries, or at least she used to. But it's just not what I need. She likes control and to be honest, for a long time I welcomed giving it to her because it meant I didn't have to think about a lot of stuff that happened in my life. She just took care of it. Then I realized that I wasn't really living. I took jobs she told me to take, I ran lines with her and did them how she thought they'd sound best, I would sit for hours in our bakeries as she talked shop and fed me whatever latest thing they made, I never dress our children, she rolls her eyes when I wear what I want to wear sometimes... It's too much. And when I started rebelling away from it, she grabbed on tighter and made me miserable." He runs a hand through his hair and then lets it fall into his lap with his gaze. "I get pretty bad anxiety sometimes. She tells me to get over it. I used to think that helped, genuinely. And then I was surrounded by people who held me up when that stuff happened and it was like a light went off that I could live a different life, that this didn't have to be it for me. I started noticing things, little things, that I'd grown so used to that I just accepted as normal when I shouldn't have. Like her manipulating me, all the fucking time, even with  _ this. _ She doesn't respect me anymore. She uses my--" his breath catches. He looks up and swallows. "She uses my parents against me sometimes, she uses my anxiety against me." He feels like he might throw up, but he also feels like he can finally breathe now that he's talking about it. "I told her I wasn't happy and she literally just ignored it, she told me I was and I see the way she looks at me, I know she thinks he's just a way that I'm lashing out, but he's not. She uses him against me all the time and I hate it, she knows what she's doing to me and she does it anyway." He takes a deep breath and looks away. His hands were shaking even worse now and he can't even bring himself to think about what she might say in her one on one time.

Pickstein had leaned forward. “Thank you for honesty and trust. I hope you’ll find that it was the right decision. Even if this is just another thing she pressured you to do, I think it’s gonna be helpful to have a calmer divorce if that’s the path you choose to go. I understand that this has been rough and I understand your reasoning very well. But don’t you think she could learn to understand your anxiety and help you? As far as I can tell her-“ she hesitates there but realises that there’s no pretty way to phrase it. “Her abusive behaviour only stems from her lack of understanding your mental illness and her want to stay in control. That’s nothing that learning and connecting wouldn’t be able to fix. Admittedly, it takes time but it’s a possibility.” He sees him shake his head frantically, get up, pace for a moment before sitting back down. “I believe that friend of yours plays an important role in that decision. Tell me about him.”

Armie smiles a little and looks away. "His name is Timothée," he says softly. "He's..." Armie realizes suddenly that this was the first time he'd ever had to explain what they had to someone; everyone else saw it, he didn't have to say anything, not even to Nick, not really. "He's light, you know? He's just so light. He's got this vibrancy that's contagious and he's so intelligent, it's insane--he doesn't even realize it but he's brilliant. And he laughs like," he shakes his head and looks down. "He laughs like everything is okay, and he's got this ability to just emote everything and he feels everything and he's vulnerable and beautiful and..." Armie pauses; he has to catch his breath. "He makes me feel safe. He's my best friend," he adds with a shrug. Memories play in his mind of everything he'd experienced with and because of Timmy and he can't bring himself to stop talking. He wasn't sure he'd be able to talk like this without judgement or any risk of exposure, maybe ever again. "When he holds me it's like everything just works, you know? That's what it's supposed to feel like, it just works. And he's patient, god he has to be because of who I am. And he sees straight through me, it's amazing. He even knows when I'm not there, he'll fucking text me and it's like he just knows exactly what's going on. He called me the other night just to sit in silence with me, I mean I..." he bites back emotion, knowing it's no use. "He just wanted to sit there in silence, just sit there with me. I don't--I don't even know why he cares so much, but he does, and he makes me feel like--when he looks at me I feel like I  _ am _ enough." He sniffles and stares at his hands as he knots his fingers together to keep from reaching for his phone to call him.

Pickstein’s smile grows soft. She can clearly see the love that Armie has for this man, that he’s so ready to give to him, not only in his eyes but in his whole body. “That sounds like you really love him.” She wishes everyone would find their soulmates. “He sounds like a lovely person and someone who cares about you a lot as well.” She sees him nod eagerly but is very much aware of the fact that love does make you blind. Else they wouldn’t be here today. “Did you identify as straight before you met? Does sexual frustration play a role here? Mrs Chambers mentioned you cheated on her. Did you really and if so what moved you to take that step?”

Armie blushes and tries not to replay the memory in his mind. "I...yeah, I cheated," he replies. "I mean, I'm not going to say sexual frustration didn't play a role because I," he pauses. _Best to be blunt and get it over with_. "Wanted him for a long time. "So I guess that played some role, but I'd been good about lines, well I tried to be. If I'm being honest, I've been cheating on her emotionally for months, so... the physical just sort of...happened. We were talking about feelings and emotions were high and it was just...it happened. She noticed," he shakes his head. "Funny, she didn't realize I _wasn't_  happy but she noticed when I suddenly _was_." He bites back the bitterness. "I don't know about my sexuality, I've never talked about it," he says, growing uncomfortable. "I don't know."

“Alright, thank you for being so honest with me. It can only benefit you.” She assures him. “You are not here to talk about your sexuality of course. That’s something you have to figure out for yourself. I meant to ask whether you are attracted to her still?” She notices that while he’s trying to not to show too much you can tell some things. The honest excitement that fills him whenever he’s thinking about that Timothée boy for example.

"Oh god, I don't know." He runs a hand over his face and groans. He wasn't really sure what to say to that, how to answer, what the actual truth even was. "I don't want her anymore, if that's what you mean. Whenever she tries to kiss me I just..." He glances up and wonders if she was judging him for any of this. Surely with this profession she would see all sorts of couples, he couldn't be the first to walk in with this sort of situation. "I think about him, honestly. I always have, ever since the first time I kissed him, I just think of him." He shakes his head. "I know that's stupid and sounds like a line but I swear to God, I just think about him. And when I think about sleeping with her it feels like I'm...I know how this sounds, okay? I know it sounds bad, but even just sleeping in the same bed as her feels like I'm cheating on  _ him, _ and I know that's insane because I'm married to her but it's the truth." He might throw up--he didn't even realize that's the reason he felt so off with her lately until he said it out loud. "That's not normal, is it? I've never... this is the first time I've ever cheated, I don't really know if that's normal."

“Well. It depends but it certainly speaks for the depth of your bond.” She points out and hums. “Let me ask you a clear question: Are you willing to give this marriage six more months to work out?” That amount of time seemed easier to deal with and if at all it’s the time frame Elizabeth would have to change. But Pickstein is pretty sure what his answer is going to be and she secretly has a hard time blaming him.

There was that pressure again, pulling him apart from the inside out. "No, I can't--the past week has been-- I tried, okay, I tried walking away from him and I honestly don't think I even lasted a  _ day _ . I told him I had to try being with her and I started... I started having..." He's not sure why it hurts to talk about but for some reason it does. Like admitting it is admitting there's something wrong with him, even though he knows logically that a lot of people deal with it, and he himself has already mentioned it to her. "I've had more anxiety attacks this week trying to deal with my marriage than I've had in a long time. I can't do this anymore, not just because of him. I don't think I can actually do this anymore." He feels a numbing effect on his limbs and knows enough by now to know it's in his head and it's just the conversation that's causing it. He tries to pull feeling back and avoid withdrawing from her; he actually kind of likes her and thinks she might be more understanding than he'd thought she would be.

Pickstein sees he's on the verge of having another one and realises there is no sense in him having to stay longer in a position that causes him so much misery. "It's alright, Mr Hammer. We are done here. I'm not going to go deeper. You've been very honest with me and I think that helped me more than anything to make a proper judgement of your situation." She waits patiently until his breathing has calmed. "Very well." She fills a glass with water and pushes it across the table so he can take a sip. "If it would be okay for you I would like to discuss the anxiety attacks with Mrs Chambers. Even if your divorce is likely to happen it might not hurt for her to understand your situation better. Do you have somewhere to go to get out of her orbit for the moment?" She asks. Clearly Mr. Hammer needed time away from her prying ways to breathe. She might manage to not let things explode during a divorce but she doubts he would ever be able to forgive her for what she'd done to him.

Armie nods and collects himself. Before leaving, he shakes her hand and thanks her for understanding and listening. He feels a little better having told someone everything, but there was still a nagging at the back of his mind that he didn't like. Something still felt off. He doesn't say anything when he passes Elizabeth in the hall and instead goes straight to a waiting area and pulls out his phone to distract himself and decompress. Even just mentioning the anxiety seemed to validate it, something he hadn't had since Luca talked to him about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more babes!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 Heads up-- the last chapter is 20 pages of a single-spaced doc. It's a lot.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think it's time to come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is insane, you guys. For those of you who weren’t following along with this when we first started posting, Nici and I began writing this story on a google hangout minutes after the Oscars ended. It’s been a wild ride sharing this with all of you. Thank you for the comments, the kudos,and the screaming. Don’t stop now ;)

Elizabeth means to smile at Armie when he passes but he doesn't even make eye contact and she can't help but roll her eyes. Typical. She walks into Pickstein's office with a warm smile and shakes her hand again. "How was he? He really didn't want to come, please tell me he at least talked?" she says, trying to ease into it. She wanted to know what he said, what lies he told.

Pickstein smiles and gestures for her to take a seat again. “We were having a good conversation. Before we talk more about him I’d like to hear from you why you’d like to save your marriage? Mr Hammer has repeatedly stated that he’s unhappy and yet you insist on staying together. Can you tell me what you hope to gain from that?” She asks and leans back regarding her body language now. She likes to seem confident and like she has everything under control but it’s obvious that she feels threatened. She’s very much aware that this might be her last chance to save this marriage.

"What I hope to gain?" Elizabeth's smile grows tight. "We have a _family._ I don't hope to gain anything—I already _have._ What I want is for our family to stay together," she tells her. "He's confused. I think this whole thing was an overwhelming experience. I get that it. But I think he's confusing his reality with something completely made up. He doesn't see what's really going on here, that what he feels for him is fleeting. He's not thinking clearly, so when he says he isn't happy it's just him being dramatic, he does that sometimes. It's just who he is." She shrugs and wonders about Pickstein who initially seemed to be on her side, but now she wasn't so sure. What did he say to her? It worried Elizabeth.

Pickstein drops her hands in her lap. “Mrs Chambers, have you ever honestly considered your husband might be mentally ill? He’s suffering from anxiety attacks more frequently. That is not _dramatic behaviour_. Even if it’s not anxiety he’s suffering, him saying that he is should already be a clear sign that warrants worry.” She points out. Mrs Chambers seems unwilling to believe that Mr Hammer is truly suffering and that makes her alarm bells ring. It’s often linked to a conservative upbringing but that’s no excuse. It’s not hard to see how desperate Hammer is to get out from under her thumb.

"He's never gotten help or anything like that," she replies. She knew he was acting weird more often these days but it seemed like it was all linked to Timmy, so she didn't give it much validation. "Is that really pertinent to saving our marriage though?" She feels like she's being talked down to and it bothers her.

“It makes him feel uncomfortable. It hurts him that you don’t take that seriously. For him, the affair is just the end of the story. The beginning was much earlier.” She explains. “So it’s one of his major reasons for leaving you. So yes, I would say it’s important and something you will have to confront if you want this marriage to have a future.” She goes on. “The fact that he never got professional help is no indication that there’s not a problem. You never validated his concerns so he thought it was his fault the entire time and, to be quite frank here, Mrs Chambers, this is something that has to change even if you divorce. You have two kids that you’ll need to raise together either way which makes a certain understanding for each other necessary. Mr Hammer will not even consider staying in this marriage if you continue this behaviour. That has to be clear, okay?”

"So you're just taking his side, then? I thought you were supposed to be neutral?" She rolls her eyes and looks away, but the words sink deep into her and won't give. "What am I supposed to do then? Let him mope around?" She knows that it's not just that, but she doesn't really understand exactly what Pickstein expected of her here. After all, she isn't the one who's giving up on them. _He_ is. "I don't want as marriage with someone who makes me take care of every little thing, are you telling me I have to cater to him now because that's ridiculous. He's a grown ass man," she says. This feels like it's going nowhere fast and she regrets letting Nick choose the therapist. Maybe he wasn't on her side.

“Dealing with anxiety can hardly be called moping. He needs you to validate that he’s dealing with a mental illness and support him. He told me he’s got to know people who do exactly that and it helped him immensely. It was for him the turning point where he realised it doesn’t have to be the life he’s living with you so that’s probably where you want to start.” She makes a break and lets it sink in. “I’m not taking his side in this but you have to understand that there are so called “hard” reasons that are undeniable and facts. You not supporting him with his anxiety is one of them just as the fact that he cheated on you.” She explains softly, tries to win back her trust.

Elizabeth shakes her head and looks away. She doesn't really want to hear this; she wanted her to tell him to stay in the marriage, this wasn't what she was expecting at all. "Let me guess, Timmy validates his anxiety?" The mere mention of him upset her these days, the 22 year old who managed to destroy her family with a smile. It made her sick. Even _if_ what Pickstein said is true, that he wanted out before even meeting Timmy. Elizabeth still needed something to hold onto and he was the easiest thing. Thinking about the other reasons for this falling apart was too much for her to handle. Blaming him was easier.

Pickstein knows what is happening. A totally normal human reaction. “Mr Hammer spoke of meeting people who do. So I guess it’s him and others, too. He must have found a circle that he feels safe in to voice his concerns.” She points out and gives her a pointed look. “Blaming him is not going to help you. Not Timothée and not Armie. I’m not saying it’s all on you but neither is it all on them.”

"But you're saying a lot is on me? Perfect." This was a waste of time. Elizabeth just wanted things to go back to normal—when she suggested therapy she thought that's what would happen, _normalcy._ She didn't realize that her normal was his hell and that she could never have that back. It wasn't fair that he let her get comfortable and then out of nowhere wanted to rip that life away from her. "He's destroying my family right now, you do see that right? If he leaves everything falls apart." She wasn't sure if it was better or worse that Pickstein was so calm, so collected in her thoughts. She feels uneasy all the same.

Pickstein nods. “I know that is what it must feel like right now, Mrs Chambers, but it’s actually better for the kids to have clarity. Didn’t yours pick up on something being off?” Her expression tells her everything she needs to know. “See? Things have to change either way. There’s no going back now. They have already changed. It’s why you are here.” She explains softly. “The question is: are you willing to work on yourself? For this marriage? Or would you rather make a divorce work?” She has to ask this to know where Elizabeth stands.

"I'm not getting a divorce," she says, shaking her head. "That's not an option. That's not the plan." This isn't supposed to be happening. She said _I do,_ that was supposed to _mean something._ They weren't supposed to end up here. "We're supposed to be together," she says, meeting Pickstein's eyes steadily. "That's why we got married. We started a family, we built a life, this isn't supposed to be happening."

Pickstein can hardly suppress a sigh. When they reached this point logic was usually at its end. As an atheist it’s hard for her to believe in some unity that God made. “It is certainly an option for Mr Hammer and I don’t think he’ll let himself be forced to stay with you any longer. If you try to stop him now with force you will lose him forever. Even if you comply to all of his wishes your chances on keeping him are slim. He’s _in love_ with Timothée. That’s not something logic or reason can change.” She has to ease her into the reality that Hammer wanted that divorce more than anything else.

"Oh my god, he's got you wrapped around his finger," she spits, standing and walking over to the window to look outside. This isn't a situation she can find any control in and it made her uneasy. "What about me? I love him, too." She hears Armie's voice in the back of her mind telling her that they weren't who they were when they fell in love, not even who they were a year ago, two years ago, etc. He wasn't wrong and she knows it, but that doesn't make it easier to think about. "This isn't fair," she says, still looking outside. She would lose everything with this. Giving him a divorce would be admitting defeat, and she'd never been a quitter.

Pickstein knows she has to backpedal or she would lose her trust for good. “It isn’t. It hurts. Of course, it does. But do you really want to hold onto this just for the sake of your comfort. He’s unhappy in this marriage. If you love him, surely you want him to be happy. I know it’s not fair, it hurts but I’m afraid that’s just how it is. If you hold on he’s going to hurt more. Can you really do this to him?” She asks.

She shakes her head but doesn't leave her spot. It was starting to sink in and she didn't want to break in front of her. This wasn't a fight they were going to let her win, she realizes. This wasn't something she was going to be able to come back from. He would always resent her, he would never let her be happy if they stayed together, he would make her miserable. Usually she had excellent control over her emotions but right now she sees their entire life falling apart at the seams and it's too much. He would leave her and there would be no more nights where she walked in on him reading bedtime stories to Hops, no more sleepy Sundays with Ford on his chest. There wouldn't be family dinners and hectic mornings where they ran around the kitchen trying to get everything ready before heading out the doors. There would be no more good night texts when he was on the road, no more events to get dressed up for, no more anything. Timmy would get those moments and she would have them by herself, alone. "This isn't fair," she says again, though it sounds far more broken this time. "I was supposed to be there in the end. I was supposed to be the one making him happy." She wipes the tears away and turns back to Pickstein. "Obviously I don't _want_ him to hate me."

“I’m sorry. I really am. Sometimes life doesn’t work out the way we want it to.” She admits. “It’s hard but this doesn’t mean you can’t be happy again. Love can happen to you again as well and it may be better than this when no one is constantly feeling miserable. You’ll still be able to raise your kids together and if you both invest in it, you can both become friends. This isn’t the end of the world, Mrs Chambers even if that is what it may feel like right now.” She watches her take a deep breath, composing herself. She’s a strong woman and she would make it through this, Pickstein is sure of it. “With some distance you might even be able to realise when you knew he was suffering but you just didn’t want to see it. Take your time. Let him go. I honestly do think, this is the best decision in your situation.” There she had said it. Sometimes it was hard to give clear advice but here she really can only see this way. “At the very least you should give him a break. Spend some time apart, see how you both manage. Sometimes distance makes the heart grow fonder. Sometimes you will realise this is actually the better way to go.”

"I still don't want this," Elizabeth says. "I want him to know I don't _want_ this." She walks back to her seat and sits down with a sigh. If it were up to her, they'd work this out. She fears it might be too late now, that if he really had been  faking it for the last year then she had no idea who she was even married to. She knew he was an actor, but damn. "He doesn't want me, anymore." It's not a question, but it's the first time she's voiced the thought. she looks at the door he left out of and then returns her gaze back to Pickstein while composing herself; he wasn't the only one with masks. "If I give him space does that mean it's over?" She doesn't know if she can even look at him anymore, so perhaps it was a good idea. A day or two, just some time to recover. Some time to stop feeling sick about it and for him to get the clarity they needed.

“Not with all certainty but I want you to get used to the thought.” Pickstein says softly. “I think he knows that you are against this but he’s at a point where he already this doesn’t stop him anymore.” She explains.

"He decided this without me," she says bitterly. "Fine. I'll do that if it's what he wants." This was useless, she realizes. He was slipping out of her fingers and no one seemed to want to help her hold on. It was absurd, she was the wife, she should be the one getting all the support. Instead, he gets what he wants _again._ Maybe she'd go to a spa for their time apart, maybe she could forget all the years he'd taken off her life with his selfishness. If Timmy wanted to deal with him, then fine. The good moments came at a price, he'd learn soon enough.

“I think it’s honestly the best course of action. Thank you for being so understanding. Let me call him in here so we can conclude our session.” She stands up and walks over to the door to call him in. Hopefully it would both help them. “Mr Hammer. Would you join us for the conclusion?” She asks and smiles at him. It’s obvious that he tenses right away. He’s scared and looks like a lamb being led to the slaughter as he follows her inside. “Your wife and I agreed that time spend apart would do you both good. You will see how it is to live without the other constantly around and test the waters on how separation is going to feel like. I suggest you reconnect then and sort out your experiences. I’d be happy to help with that. And then the final decision can be made.” She explains. “How does this sound?”

His eyes dart between them as he tries not to get carried away with what she's saying. _Time apart,_ that was more than he'd hoped for with this. "You agreed to this?" he asks Elizabeth, slight wonder in his eyes. There was no way, he thought he'd come back inside and have a panic attack. He still might, but it felt far less likely suddenly. "It sounds good," he nods. "Really good, that sounds helpful." New York, he could go see him and they could talk and he could hold him against his chest again and he could explain everything and make him see that he wanted a life with him and was willing to actually do it. He could see him and tell him he loves him, he could hold his hand and wake up to him. He's overwhelmed in an instant and he hates how often he's let his guard down today but a part of him is realizing just how nice it feels to let people in sometimes. He nods at Pickstein and tries not to actually cry, hoping she understands that he feels infinitely grateful for whatever she said to get Elizabeth to a point of reason.

Elizabeth stares at him. It’s unbelievable to see the emotion actually clear on his face, he’s nearly tearing up for joy and if nothing else it makes it very clear that she’s lost him long ago. “Armie, I don’t _want_ this. I don’t want to lose, I don’t want to lose the family we have but—I don’t want you to hurt either and perhaps distance will make you see, will make Timothée see what it’s actually going to be like.” She explains. “And since you suddenly seem so keen on getting a grip on your life you’re taking the kids. I need some time alone. And you need to learn what it actually means to be a father.”

Pickstein clears her throat. She can feel another wave of accusations building up and it’d put them back several steps. “It might not actually be the best idea to rip them from their known environment right away.” She points out.

Elizabeth shakes her head and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “These are the consequences of his actions. He needs to learn that.”

Armie glances back at Pickstein and feels his stomach drop. "I shouldn't take the kids? What does that even mean, it's a visit, I can take them right?" Her hesitation sent him from a high right down to dread. He wanted the kids to see Timmy, he wanted to see that life, he wanted it so goddamn bad. Their parallel life, except in his apartment, not some faraway island. This would be real, it would be _real._ He wants it. "For just a little while? It's a visit, I'm not moving them away, they travel all the time." He looks at Elizabeth, shocked that he was suddenly looking for her help in this. He didn't care what her motivation was, his biggest fear had started to be that she would keep the kids from him—if she wanted him to take them for any amount of time, he was latching onto it.

Pickstein realises that Hammer is very much okay with taking the kids. She’d been afraid it would be a little much right away, on his lover as well but- “Oh I just thought—nevermind. If it’s not a problem for you then of course you can take them. Make sure you tell them the truth though. That you are taking a break and that they will be able to see both of you either way.” She nods. “That’d be all. Good luck to all of you.” She stands up to shake their hands. “And if you need my help as a mediator again, don’t be afraid to call me.”

Armie breathes a sigh of relief but there's an unsettled feeling that doesn't subside; he worries she knows something he doesn't, that he'll regret bringing them. Perhaps he would—to bring them and tell Timmy all in one fell swoop—that could be difficult to say the least. But he wants it so bad he might do it anyway. He'd have to tell Timmy something, he knows this. He couldn't just spring two kids on him. He stands and follows her out of the room after they've said their goodbyes and tries not to worry about it at the moment. He would talk to Elizabeth and they could figure out the timing, and then he could ask Timmy. It would work somehow, he could take a day and decide, he tells himself. He finally looks at Elizabeth when they enter the elevator and wonders when he lost the ability to read her expressions.

Elizabeth looks down at the ground, clutches her purse a bit tighter. So this is it. He got what he wanted after all. “Are you happy now?” She asks. She tries to tell herself he would see that things aren’t so easy without her, that Timmy would see what it’s like suddenly adding a grown child and two real ones in your life. They would realise that but right now it still tastes like defeat and she hates that.

Armie sighs and looks down. "Yeah, I am actually." No use hiding, he thinks. His masks seemed pointless these days anyway. "How serious are you about the kids? We can talk about it, I don't know how long you even want to be—" he glances back at her and hesitates on which word to use. "On a break." He knows he's on thin ice having just gotten more than he'd hoped with the session, so he tries to be gentle, let her have some power since he knows she feels it's all been taken from her. He wouldn't lose the kids permanently, he couldn't imagine it, so he'd play nice if he absolutely had to for them.

She can’t bear looking at him so she chooses to focus on a spot on the wall in front of her. “I don’t know. I think we need some more time to figure this out but I don’t want to leave the kids for too long.” If her plan works out he’d be back soon enough anyway. “A week or two and then we’ll decide on how to proceed?” She suggests. “I want to FaceTime them though.” She hopes giving them up for a week or two would resolve in the greater good. And to be honest she could use some time to completely lie back and enjoy herself. It would be good and before she can even start really missing them Armie would be back begging her to let him in. He’s never managed something like this on his own so the chances simply stood in her favour.

"Of course, I'm sure they'll want to as well," he nods. She's really letting him take the kids. Again, he tries not to get carried away, knows he needs to talk to Timmy—but he knows this is _good,_ and he can't help but be excited. The worry about how this might play out combined with the vision of Timmy falling asleep with Ford dozed off in his arms makes him heavy and light, stressed and wonder-struck. He doesn't want to say anything to her to jeopardize this opportunity so instead tries to keep quiet, resolved to talk to Timmy later.

They walk to the car but she stops him when he’s about to get in. “No. I need some time alone. Figure out how you come home yourself.” She tells him and climbs in before driving off. She tries to keep a straight face but as soon as she’s out of sight she feels tears streaming down her face. She wipes them away angrily. _Stupid!_

Armie calls a Lyft and paces while he waits, wondering how soon was too soon to talk to Timmy. When he gets to his neighborhood, he has the guy drop him off a few blocks before his house and hops out. He needed to walk or do something to get rid of the nervous energy in his limbs. He grabs his phone before he starts genuinely having another attack over something with an easy solution of just making contact. _hypothetically how do you feel about seeing my kids?_ he hits send with shaking hands and sits on the sidewalk, aware of how insane he looks but not really caring.

Timmy is spending his time trying to pretend he’s not only pretending to be calm. There’s so much nervous energy even as he keeps repeating that Armie isn’t his yet, in fact nothing is safe yet. It doesn’t change that he fucking jumps at his phone when he hears it chime. Confusion sets in though at reading Armie’s message. _??? Hypothetically? Kids? Enlighten me-_ Timmy stops typing chewing his lips. What are the rules? How far can he go? Ah fuck it. _babe_ he adds before hitting send. Better not to think too much about it. It would drive him crazy.

Armie stares at the screen with a small smile and feels his chest tighten, though this time it's with butterflies instead of anxiety. He looks up and down the street as he takes a deep breath before returning to the phone. _hypothetically if i bring my children to New York would you want to see them?_ He knows he's being coy but he kind of likes it, this teasing. Especially since Timmy said "babe," he figures he's on stable enough ground to return to some form of banter. He hits send and types another message. _no pressure here, seriously. be honest. I'll have a hotel room._ Then another: _hypothetically. ;)_

Timmy jumps up from where he had been sitting on the ground and shouts. He’s not sure what but he has to do something to let the joy out. When he holds his phone up, reads the message again, his fingers are shaking with joy. _I want you guys here no complaints. We’ll have to work out the sleeping situation but yes. Yes._ As soon as he hits sends he starts pacing. Armie is coming. He really is coming for him.

When Armie reads his text, he leans forward with his elbows on his knees and lets all the emotion bubbling up in his chest out with a shaky laugh and damp eyes. ~~thank fuck~~ can I call you? He presses send and waits, desperate for his voice and his breathy laugh. He stands and begins walking, the activity helping him channel some energy into something productive.

Timmy forgoes telling him he expects him to and just calls him right away. “Oh my GOD ARMIE!” He tells at him before he has a chance to say anything. “Are you really coming to New York? When?” He holds onto his phone like a lifeline as he forces himself to sit down and stop pacing.

Armie stops walking when he hears his voice and lets out a short laugh, his eyes shutting as his head falls forward so his chin rests against his chest. He runs a hand over his hair and grips the back of his neck lightly. "It is so good to hear your voice. You have no idea, for hours now I've been thinking about your voice," he swallows and looks up the street towards his house that didn't really feel like a home anymore. "I don't know when, I literally haven't even gotten home from therapy. I just needed to talk to you, needed _you._ " He feels a little breathless and a part of him would get on a plane right this instant.

Timmy bites his lips unable to hide his excitement. “I can’t believe—I mean—I’m just—I’m so excited. I can’t wait to have you back. When I left Austin I thought it was the end of it and now... you’re coming and OH MY GOD I need to go grocery shopping. And I need to figure out where the kids are going to sleep. There’s so much to do!” He bounces where he’s sitting now because he can’t not move.

"Timmy, hey, slow down," Armie laughs, stuffing a hand into his pocket and embracing the butterflies in his chest at his excitement. "I can seriously get a hotel room if that helps, or we can get a little day bed and crib but I'll pay for whatever it is, okay?" He looks around and sees some kids playing outside across the street. He smiles and waves at their parents—he recognizes them from Harper's school—and continues walking, lowering his voice a little. "I can't wait to see you. I thought Austin was it, too. Guess I can't stay away from you, what with you making me happy and everything," he says with a smile.

Timmy wants the beds, he wants to be able to look at them. It would make it all the more real. But it’s also a fact that he’s living in a studio which is perfect for a young bachelor but not for a family. But surely flat hunting would be a little bit ahead of things. “No, I’m gonna go shopping. We’ll make it work.” He promises him. They have to make this work. “You make me happy, too. You have no idea how much.” Timmy sways forward, curls falling into his face, but he doesn’t bother to move them. “Promise to come as soon as possible?” He asks sheepishly.

"Timmy..." Armie's nervous suddenly, just thinking about it. He tries not to let it get to him though—he _is_ happy and there's no need to ruin that. "Okay, yeah. We'll figure it out. God, I can't wait to see you, I know I already said that but I fucking miss you." He isn't sure at what point he started being that clingy guy, but he undeniably is now, with Timmy. "I'll look at tickets and schedules when I get home, I'll try to be there soon."

Timmy pauses, frowns, studies Armie’s expression until he asks him what’s wrong. “Don’t feel pressured to come though. I mean you are always welcome but I understand if moving in—may be a bit much. Surely you want some space to breathe and not be hogged by me 24/7.” Timmy has known for awhile that he’s clingy as a lover and he also knows it makes people uneasy. He just got so excited... “Take your time. My door is always open for you.”

"Stop it, I want you—want to _see_ you. My hesitation is just... I have a lot to tell you, I guess. I worry about Harper, what she'll say and think. Your place is small, she's going to see us together, sleeping...I guess I just assumed I'd sleep in your bed, maybe that was presumptuous, but it doesn't matter, we'll figure it all out. I'll be there _soon,_ I promise. I just have to figure the logistics out and then I'm on a plane." He was walking faster now, eager to get home, to figure it all out.

“Well I really don’t have space for another bed that would fit you so if neither of us is taking the couch I suggest we share.” Timmy looks up and over to his bed. It’s large enough to fit them both, even with Armie’s size. He has to smile imagining all the life that would fill his little flat soon. “I can’t wait. I guess it wouldn’t be great for us to meet at the airport but I can wait in a car outside. I’ll arrange something. I’ll clean and go shopping.” It would help to distract him until they would arrive.

"Okay," Armie says. His voice is soft and he knows there would be things they had to talk about when he got there, though he wasn't sure how with the kids around. Perhaps this was Elizabeth's reason for sending them, to prevent him from talking with Timmy. They would figure it out though, he was sure of it. "Hey, Timmy...I love you," he tells him.

Timmy doesn’t hesitate for a second. “I love you, too.” It feels so good to hear it again though. Armie’s coming to New York and he’s in love with him. “I love you.” He repeats. Right now everything seems to be manageable. The paps, the kids, Elizabeth. They’d figure it out. They have each other now. That should be enough.

"I'm almost home so I'm gonna text you later when I know more, alright?" Armie was smiling, Timmy's voice wrapped around those words was bringing him immense comfort these days.  He never thought he'd have this, or really even have the chance to consider it. He still felt like he was dreaming, like he'd wake up any moment and Luca would be scolding him while hiding a smile because he slept in late and needed to get to set and the last twenty months hadn't happened. "Love you," he says again, because he can, because he'd fought to be able to say it, because he _means it_ and wants to keep saying it again and again.

Timmy grins. “Okay, yes, love you more.” He can’t bring himself to end the call though so he just hangs on when he suddenly remembers. “Hey, I hope ‘babe’ is okay. I wasn’t sure—I just ran with it. Just tell me if it annoys you.” They still have to learn how to be a couple but it’s exciting and new at the moment and not terrifying. Armie _is_ right. They need to talk but he wants to enjoy this right now.

A grin breaks out on Armie's face and he laughs quietly, reveling in Timmy's concern. It was cute how he checked up on whether or not it was okay—Armie hadn't expected that and it warms him. His grin turns playful and he glances around him before breathing into the phone, "I like the way you say things." He was only a few houses away from home so he pauses and says, "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. Babe is okay," he reassures him.

Timmy shivers at the deep voice. Two could play this game. “Alright, babe. See you then.” He says in the sexiest voice he can muster before ending the call. For a moment he lets everything he’d just heard sink in. Then he has to jump up again and calls Pauline. “He’s coming to New York!!” He yells at her as soon as she picks up.

Armie stands on the sidewalk for a moment, his phone still pressed to his ear, his breath stuck in his throat. He blinks a few times and lowers the phone slowly before glancing at the house. He swallows hard and texts him _dear god call me babe all you want._ He starts walking and allows himself to enjoy his last moments of bliss before he has to go in and face reality—he had to find a way to get Harper and Ford to the city, _and_ tell them why they were going. He thinks about the conversation he'll have to have with Elizabeth and how Harper would cry and he wonders how long they can push that off before leaving. _I guess I'll see,_ he thinks.

“Hold on he texted.” He tells her and pulls the phone from his ear to check his messages. He grins and rereads the message feeling smug that he can draw this reaction out of him. _alright, sext you later, king._ He sends. _Whoops autocorrect ;))_ he sends again before going back to Pauline. “Yes sorry I’m still alive. Barely but yes. I can’t believe this is happening.”

Armie's footsteps falter before the second text arrives and he can't help but laugh a little, shake his head, take a deep breath and let it out slowly. _such a tease_ he sends as he nears the front door. He pauses before going in, leaning against the door heavily to collect himself before he goes inside. With another deep sigh, he opens the door and his eyes go wide before a small chuckle escapes. Harper is running around the living room, bow slipping out of her hair, something orange—maybe juice? Please be juice—spilled on her dress. Elizabeth is watching in near horror and trying to catch her as she passes, while Ford laughs wildly from his playpen. Armie shakes his head and falls to his knees when Harper notices him and runs for him instead of wherever she was determined to go before. "Dad!" she screams with a big smile as he wraps his arms around her.

Elizabeth pushes her hair back. She hadn’t told the kids what had happened yet so they had just been their usual selves which was sort of exhausting on top of everything. “Good, you finally made it home, too. Go change her. I think it’s best if we talk then. When she makes eye contact with him she doesn’t let any softness on and she can see his smile falter again. She makes an impatient gesture with her head and then turns to clean the table.

Armie takes her to her room and tries to field all her little questions without alerting her to anything being off, but he's not sure he hits his mark. He helps her get into more appropriate play clothes and goes into the bathroom to soak her dress, telling her to play for a little while in her room. He didn't want to go into this conversation with Harper without talking to Elizabeth first about what they would and wouldn't reveal. She's only 3, she didn't need to know everything; and yet, she's curious and emotional and they could get blind sighted by her if they weren't careful and prepared.

Armie comes back alone and Elizabeth frowns at him but then he pulls her aside and asks her what she thinks would be good to tell her. “I think we should say that we are having problems and therefore are taking some time apart. We can hardly tell her you fucked some boy-“ she stops herself realising she’s starting to get irritated and angry again. “Sorry I—it’s been a lot. I think it would be good if you could leave as soon as possible.” She makes clear. She can’t breathe with him around right now.

Armie nods a bit and looks over at Ford. "That's fine, I'll book some tickets after we talk." He's suddenly seeing why Pickstein said not to move them so quickly afterwards; depending on how Harper took this, she might not want to go anywhere, might throw a fit at just the mention of them spending any time apart. Then again, perhaps she wouldn't really understand what it all meant. "Elizabeth—I know it doesn't really mean anything at this point but I _am_ sorry we've come to this point...We should probably go get her."

“I don’t want to hear your sorry’s. Not now anyway.” She says and leaves him to get Harper. “Hops, dear, mommy and daddy have to tell you something.” She opens the conversation and they all sit down at the table. She looks at Armie then. This is on him. It’s his fault they are doing this after all.

“What?” Harper looks from her mom to her dad.

Armie takes a long look at Elizabeth before turning to Harper. "Hops—" he pauses, terrified of what this will do to their family. He knows it's worth it for them all in the long run, but right now it feels almost cruel. "Harper, Mommy and I are going to be spending some time away from each other." He's not sure she'll understand that in the slightest, though he's not sure Elizabeth would appreciate him preemptively saying the word _divorce_ either. "We're having some problems sweetheart so we're going to go be apart for two weeks." He opts for the longer term she had suggested, just in case. "I'm going to go visit New York for that time, you and Ford are going to go visit with me." He looks at Elizabeth and feels like he might throw up; he's not even sure he's processed what he's just said, if he even made sense. He couldn't feel his arms and his voice sounded funny, the feeling of his vocal chords working an unfamiliar buzz.

Harper‘s face lights up. “New York? Are we gonna go to the zoo? Please, dad!” She bounces on her seat. “I wanna see the animals! I’m learning new ones! I can show you the drawing I made off them!” She hops from her chair to get her book.

Elizabeth glares at Armie. “Great job, Mr. father of the year. She didn’t understand a thing. She’s only three. _We are having problems_. I mean—“ she makes an irritated gesture.

Harper comes running back and climbs on her dad’s lap without much pain warning. “Here look.” She leaves through it until she has found the right page.

Armie, shocked, stares at Harper as she talks before darting his eyes over to Elizabeth. Without breaking eye contact, he says, "Sure, honey, whatever you want." He shrugs helplessly, still slightly numb, and glances at Harper's drawings. "Hops, you know Mom isn't coming with us, right? Mom is going to spend some time alone while we go to New York?" She looks up at them and shrugs before returning to her drawings. Armie leans over to Elizabeth and says quietly, "Maybe we should let her process and try again some other time." He wants this to stop and to not hurt her, because he _knows_ when it registers in her mind, she'll be scared and devastated. If he can prevent that for a little longer, maybe it was okay. They could talk to her again tomorrow if she still didn't get it.

Elizabeth knows it’s not Harper’s fault but she had hoped she would be more devastated. But there’s not much they can do. “Sweetie, I’ll miss you.” She tells her and brushes her back. Harper ducks her head from under her hand. Elizabeth sighs. “Daddy is going to pack with you.” She needs a moment to process how easily her daughter had just brushed her off.

“Are there playgrounds in New York? And ice cream? What about donuts?” She asks putting the book aside, forgotten already.

"Yes, all those things," Armie says, trying to smile. He can't look at Elizabeth anymore—he knows she's upset and he doesn't want to deal with it while Harper's sitting there when he knows the conversation could spiral. He takes her by the hand and goes into her room to help her choose some outfits, though he doesn't grab her suitcase; he'll take them to his own room and pack there, still nervous to have her breakdown when he knows it _has_ to be coming...right? Or did she really just not care? They weren't doing anything permanent, perhaps that's part of why she was unfazed. The kid traveled with Elizabeth all the time to Texas, maybe she just doesn't mind as much.

"Yes, all those things," Armie says, trying to smile. He can't look at Elizabeth anymore—he knows she's upset and he doesn't want to deal with it while Harper's sitting there when he knows the conversation could spiral. He takes her by the hand and goes into her room to help her choose some outfits, though he doesn't grab her suitcase; he'll take them to his own room and pack there, still nervous to have her breakdown when he knows it _has_ to be coming...right? Or did she really just not care? They weren't doing anything permanent, perhaps that's part of why she was unfazed. The kid traveled with Elizabeth all the time to Texas, maybe she just doesn't mind as much.

While looking for clothes to pack Harper becomes distracted again and starts playing with her toys so Armie is left alone with collecting things she might want or need on their trip. Same for Ford of course.   
  
In the meantime, Timmy had critically inspected the contents of his fridge and cleaned the worst out before realising he didn’t have much more than frozen food and some little necessities. So he goes out to grocery shop. He has an idea what Armie likes but his kids... Does Ford even already eat real food or is he stuck with baby food? He gets his phone out eventually to text Armie. Guessing around would only bring him so far. _hey babe. I need your help. Does Hops prefer dinosaur or giraffe shaped food?_ He attaches a pic of the packages.

Armie smiles at the text and goes back to Harper's room. "Hey Hops, choose one," he says, crouching down to her level. She asks what it is and he tells her it's a surprise for New York and she lights up. She points to one while jumping up and down and he kisses the top of her head before walking into the hallways. _Giraffe apparently. You don't have to do that, I can help when I get there you know_. He hits send and knows he should go pack but all he really wants is to talk to Timmy some more. _We'll be there soon. she wants me gone asap I think, so...I'm going to book some tickets. How soon is too soon BE HONEST._

Timmy throws the package of the giraffe shaped nuggets into his cart. Giraffe it is. _Well it’d be nice if I could finish grocery shopping first. You’re gonna be starving when you arrive._ He points out. _I’ll take that help for the beds though. Means a rough first night probably but we’ll manage between the four of us._ He hits send and conquers the next aisle. Diapers, baby food. It’s overwhelming. _Okay this is gonna sound stupid but what baby stuff does Ford still need?_

Armie shakes his head and smiles fondly at the text. _god i just got this image of you wandering down aisles and throwing baby food in a cart. I'll bring him enough stuff to last until we get to a store. seriously it's okay, I'll show you how to shop for them._ He hits send and assumes if Timmy was at a store already he wouldn't mind them showing up in the next day or two. He grabs his pile of clothes and goes to his room to start packing, knowing he'd have to come back for all their other things but putting it off for the time being.

 _Okay thx. Love you._ He focuses on getting something that would please Armie’s taste as well then. They’d have to cook so the kids got some decent food. He checks out then and makes his way home. After stashing everything away he puts fresh sheets on his bed. They might have to share it with the kids for the first time. They’d make it work somehow. How hard could it be?

Armie starts putting things in a suitcase, his phone tossed on his bed for awhile. When he finally sees the text, some time has passed. He snaps a picture of the messy arrangement of belongings and suitcases and sends it to Timmy. _you sure you're ready for all this chaos?_ he adds. He feels exhausted suddenly, just thinking about it all. He'd try to get a red eye the next day, he decides; it would make traveling that distance and time zones easier if the kids could sleep along the way.

Timmy looks around his freshly cleaned flat when he sees the picture. _cant wait for this place to be filled with life. U have tickets booked?_ He asks and paces while waiting for a response. He decides to order takeout. After all they wouldn’t be able to do that with the kids. It feels strangely like the last evening of his bachelorhood. He turns the television on and curls on his couch.

 _not yet_ Armie sends him. He sits down with his back against the bed and types another message. _I'll send you info when I do._ He waits a minute, staring at the clothes in his closet. There's a grey sweater he decides to take for Timmy; he knows it'll fall off his shoulders just right. He looks back at his phone and hits the voice message button: "I'm going to try to pack, but I just want to say that I am so in love with you, so in love. I can't wait to tell you about therapy—I know, that sounds insane but I'm serious. And hold you, I can't wait to hold you, and I'm going to bring you another sweater, okay? This one is a little older so it's a little bigger but it's soft and I think you'll like it." He hits send and slowly stands to finish packing up what he brought in. There was a lot he wanted to tell Timmy, but it could wait until they were in person. He hopes they'll find some time to be alone so they can actually discuss everything, but that's a problem to worry about tomorrow.

Timmy mutes the television when the message comes in. Armie’s voice is so soft when he says that and he can’t stop replaying his message. Everything he’s saying is warming his heart and makes them appear a little bit more invincible. He doesn’t know how to respond for a long while. Armie seemed to give him so much and Timmy’s not sure how to repay him for that. _can’t express how warm and fuzzy this made me feel. Wishing with all my might you’d be here already. Miss u and love you more. :*_ He hits send and falls back on his couch.  Soon Armie would be here, and it would be fucking fantastic.

Armie knows they're in a hazy trap right now of "I miss you" and "I love you" and no amount of texts will satisfy them; he wants Timmy by his side, and until he can hear his voice in person he won't stop feeling this way. _I'll be there as soon as I can_ , he pauses and smiles his eyes skirting around the room. Before pressing send, he adds, _babe_ just for good measure. He starts sifting through his own clothes and choosing things. He'd do the tickets next, he decides.

Elizabeth arranged for some friends to meet her for dinner so they didn’t actually have to sit together again. She pops her head into the bedroom. “I’m going out for dinner. Wow-“ she opens the door fully. “What a mess. A man who hasn’t packed a suitcase in his life.” She lifts her arms in surrender though when she sees him glare. “Alright, Alright. Do you know when you’ll leave?” She gestures to the laptop on his lap.

"I'm about to look for tickets, I'm going to try the red eye tomorrow night. That way I can get whatever they need and I'm not completely blindsiding him." He's nervous to talk to her now, like she's a stranger all of a sudden. He shuffles things around and tries to continue packing, making things that aren't packed more organized. "Do you know what you'll do while we're gone yet?"

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business. Please don’t tell me what you’re going to do with him.” She says and closes the door on him. She pops into Harper’s room and gives her a kiss before leaving. She could feel that this would be a night she’d end up drinking too much. Fuck him and this stupid boy of his.

Armie lets her go and starts looking for flights, finding one and booking tickets quickly. He suddenly wanted it done, confirmed, an absolute out of this house. He forwards the confirmation details to Timmy and shoots him a text about it. After that, he returns to packing, filling the suitcases with more efficiency now that he had a set departure; it felt a little more real now. He puts the suitcases down and determines he'll pack the rest of their little things tomorrow.

Harper demands him to read a story about zoo animals when he’s tugging her in. “Dad, where’s mommy?” She asks. She hadn’t come to say goodnight. She always does. Why not tonight? Harper clutches her teddy to her chest.

Armie saw her opening a bottle of wine and didn't ask. "She's very tired, honey. You'll see her in the morning, okay? She just went to bed early I think." He knew she was upset and hurting but this was a bit much. The last night she'd get to tuck her daughter in for awhile and she's spending it getting drunk in the guest room because he "made a mess" in their room. He kisses the top of her head and tells her the faster she goes to sleep, the sooner they can go to New York.

Harper makes sure to wake them early the next morning. Elizabeth had yelled at her so she’s jumping on her dad’s bed. “New York! New York!” She chants and giggles when his hand swoops out and pulls her to his chest. “Ah, Daddy!” She complains. “We gotta go! Right?”

Armie snuggles her closer and tickles her with his morning stubble until she laughs and laughs. He releases her and rolls onto his back with an easy smile. "We'll go tonight, kiddo," he tells her, tucking her wild hair behind her ears with a chuckle. "Let's make some breakfast, how does that sound?" he holds her hand as they walk into the kitchen together and he starts cooking, shooting a text to Nick to let him know he was leaving town before he forgets. He'll finish packing after they eat, he decides. It was starting to feel real, and there were butterflies in his chest constantly. He'd see Timmy tomorrow, he'd hold him in his arms. He smiles at the thought as he helps Harper flip pancakes carefully.

Liz doesn’t get up before noon. She has a terrible headache and somehow none of her problems have been solved. Harper is concerned and Liz ruffles her hair. “I’m just sad you’re leaving, darling. I love you, sweetie.” When she sees how Armie is glowing she feels even worse. “Daddy, mommy is sad! Can’t she go? I want her to go!” Harper tells him.

Armie glances at Elizabeth and swallows the anxiety he feels threatening to form. "No, Hops. Mom is going to stay here, we need to go without her, okay?" He realizes this wasn't going to be easy, getting her to understand. Perhaps baby steps were key, ease her into it. Then again, he thinks of the next day and knows when she sees Timmy it wouldn't exactly be baby steps anymore, especially not if they were sleeping in the same bed. He'd deal with that later, too much to think about now. "We'll call Mommy every night, I promise."

“But that doesn’t make sense.” Harper pouts and turns to Elizabeth. “Don’t be sad, mommy.” She tells her. “I’ll be good and we can talk!” She wraps her arms around her neck where Elizabeth is sitting on the floor. Ford is playing with his toys on the carpet but not stands up and toddles over to them. Elizabeth wraps him in a hug as well and holds both of them close. “I’m going to miss you so much.” She mumbles.

Armie lets them have a moment, knowing they wouldn't have any in the next two weeks. He worries that this was about to be their lives—passing off children for mere moments, wishing they had more time, knowing they can't. _Please god, let this split be amicable,_ he thinks. He can't handle thinking otherwise, even though the alternative is entirely possible, too. "I'm going to finish packing if you want to spend some time with them," he says, trying to soften the inevitable blow of a goodbye (though he fears what she might tell them, he trusts she wouldn't purposefully hurt them). He kisses Harper's head and walks back to bedrooms to collect the missing items for their suitcases.

Elizabeth tries to preserve the time with them but time is running by and there’s nothing she can do about it. Yes, she wanted this but it’s still not easy. A calculated risk is still a risk. Her stomach clenches when she hears Armie carry down the luggage. Harper doesn’t notice her change of mood and continues to play idly. “It’s time to dress, sweetie.” He tells her softly and picks up Ford pressing him close to her chest, kissing his forehead again and again. He’s more than irritated by that but doesn’t bother as soon as she hands him his favourite plushie again. Elizabeth walks out into the hallway while Harper’s pulling on her shoes and jacket. Armie doesn’t meet her eyes and she can see he’s nervous.

Armie knows Timmy has confirmed he got the flight info but he still feels uneasy not having spoken to him today. He watches as Harper tries to tie her shoes and the weight of what he's doing set in. Anxiety pools in his stomach about flying alone with them, about caring for them, teaching Timmy how to care for them. He calms himself down with logic, telling himself he's capable, he can do this, Timmy is responsible, etc. _Hey timmy. Last chance to back out._ he sends with a picture of the kids getting bundled up for the airport. He'd timed this so they could eat dinner while they waited for the plane, hoping it would help them sleep for the duration of it and not before. He grabs his out coat and pauses in the hallway when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He would be different when he returned, less married, perhaps more committed.

Timmy is excited. There hasn’t been a moment he had be able to stand still today. He’d done everything possible to distract himself and tried not to text Armie. The guy would have to deal with him for long enough. He probably had his own problems to deal with. When his phone vibrates he thinks it’s Ansel with whom he’d been texting. When it’s Armie’s name on the screen his heart beat picks up. Little Harper and Ford would soon be here with him. It’s a ton of responsibility but he’s sure he can do it. With Armie to help him anyway. _No way man. No chicken shit. I can’t wait for you to be here. <3_ He hits send and bounces on his heels, then throws a look at the clock. Damn. That’s still hours to go.

Armie smiles at his phone for a moment before replying _well that's a relief. Do me a favor? baby proof the corners of your furniture before we get there. Ford's been especially adventurous now that he can walk._ He walks back to his children and knows he has to tell them about Timmy but isn't sure if he should wait until they're gone; Elizabeth would only get upset, and they didn't need that right before leaving. There was something incredibly comforting in knowing that tomorrow he would wake up on a plane and see Timmy again, all warmth and smiles. Everything would work out—it had to, they'd been through too much for it not to. _I love you so much, did you know that?_ he sends after another moment. These were the moments to remember, the parts of the story they'd tell one day where everyone would smile fondly at them. Soon, he thinks. He'd have it all soon.

When Timmy gets the first text he starts up his tablet for research on how to do that but ends up distracted by the second one. The detail Armie put into the text warms his heart. Yes the words are incredible but that he typed it all out perfectly including a comma shows how dedicated he truly is. How much care he’d put into sending this his way. _Did you know I have it just as bad?_ He sends back butterflies expanding in his chest. He can’t believe they’ve come to a point where they can say it. He realises after a quick research he’d have to run down to the store to get what he needed. So he grabs his keys and jacket before heading out.

Elizabeth watches him text and the smile on his face appear. The kids finish up, Ford with her help. She gives them both plenty of kisses and promises to call. “So this is it.” She says when her eyes meet Armie’s.

He's not sure he'll ever get used to the way Timmy's declarations make him feel, though he knows with confidence that he hopes the feeling never fades. He looks over at Elizabeth and shrugs. "I guess, so," he says, adding, "Do you want to drop us off?" He's not sure of her answer but he has to ask all the same. Harper's clingy and Ford is unaware--it would set in for him when they said goodbye for real and walked away. He hopes they don't cry too much with the departure.

Elizabeth shakes her head. “No. Better like this I think.” She hands him Ford who goes willingly enough. Then she bends down to Harper again. “Go sweetie. I’ll talk to you soon. I promise.” She kisses her cheek.   
“I don’t understand why you can’t come with us!” Harper protests the volume of her voice already getting louder.   
“You should go. This is only going to get worse.” She loosens the grip Harper has on her hand but it’s not helpful she can feel herself getting choked up.

He nods and begins bringing their things out to the car, having to pause outside for a moment to recover from Harper's plea. _Do me a solid and drive us to the airport. She doesn't want to and I'm freaking out a little_ he texts Nick. The reply is quick, an affirmative, and he sighs against the car. This was _big_ , this was a statement, this was a declaration of his love for Timmy in a way that nothing had been before. He's excited of course, but he's nervous. Luca's voice is in the back of his head telling him if he fears it, then he also desires it; he smiles softly and knows they'd have to call him soon when they're together and settled a little. _Together._ He smiles again as Nick pulls up with a shit eating grin and a comment about how he was starting to feel like their own personal Cupid for all the work he was putting in to help them get together. They walk inside with easy banter and it soothes Armie's nerves as they try to separate the kids from Elizabeth. Ford cries, of course, but Nick distracts him with silly faces until he quiets and rests his head against his shoulder.

Harper is not so easily soothed. She tries lodging on Elizabeth who’s having trouble ignoring her crying. When Armie does pick her up she kicks and screams as loud as she can upsetting her brother with it. Elizabeth flees the hallway then knowing she wouldn’t be able to hold in her own tears for another minute.   
“Mooooommy!” Harper cries and bites Armie’s shoulder trying to get him to let her go.   
Nick sees how hard this is on his friend but there’s not a lot he can do right now. “Hey kiddo you can play on my phone during the ride if you want.” He suggests softly.   
“I don’t want phone I want mommy!” She cries and buries her face in the crook of Armie’s neck now, the sobs shaking her whole body.

Armie rubs soothing circles on her back and closes his eyes for a fleeting moment before carrying her outside, knowing she'd cry regardless so he might as well start moving. He'd had his fair share of Harper meltdowns to deal with, but this felt different for some reason. She pouts when he puts her in her car seat but she lets him do it when he tells her if she doesn't sit still they can't go to New York, and didn't she want to go to the zoo and see the animals? She still cries but it's not to fight, just to express, and he aches for her. "I'm sorry, Hops, I know you want her. But we're going on an adventure, okay? It'll be lots of fun, I promise," he tells her with a kiss. "And I have a big surprise for you," he says, thinking of Timmy, always thinking of Timmy. Harper was his biggest fan behind Armie and Timmy's own family; she might even love him more than Nick, and Timmy loved to remind him. Granted, the situation of staying with Timmy might be weird for her, but seeing him would brighten her spirits, he was sure. Nick smiles at him when he realizes what the surprise is and laughs. "God, please don't get sappy," he teases. Armie shrugs and gives them all a small smile before pressing his lips to Harper's head and telling her she'd just have to wait to see the surprise.

In the meantime Timmy had gotten some craftsman work done. Thankfully the store had had what he’d been looking for right away. Now the flat should be babyproof. Or so he hopes. He knows he should sleep but he’s way too excited. He tries lying down but his mind keeps coming up with scenarios of their reunion and it’s driving him even more insane. So he gets up and browses the internet for a bit before opening his camera roll. He had the folder with Crema pics on it and he started looking through noticing his increasing amount of fixation on Armie. The pictures of countless trips they’d taken. Private moments during the weeks when Elizabeth hadn’t been there and Timmy would crash more often than not at Armie’s place. To think where they’d come now… it put him into a mood.

The drive to the airport goes about as well as Armie expects, considering. Armie has no idea how people do this alone, hopes he never has to know. Nick is gracious when he drops them off, holding Harper and telling her some insane story while Armie gets Ford into his stroller. Harper entertains his delusions but looks at him skeptically as if to say, hey, I know what you're doing and it's only working because I like you. Ford watches the two of them with a smile, holding the teddy bear Ashton bought him not long ago and covered in a blanket from his brother when he was born. The thought hits him like a brick wall—he'd never been alone. He'd always had people there to catch him, support him, carry him when he couldn't stand. He'd never, not a day in life, been alone. And now he never would be.   
Tears fill his eyes and Nick mistakes it for anxiety so he smiles and shakes his head, wrapping him up in a hug after he puts Harper down. "Thank you, seriously. For everything, man. Thank you," he tells him in earnest before pulling back and holding Harper's hand.

Nick is a little surprised at his tone and the tightness of his grip but he goes with it, hugs him back. “Anytime man, anytime. Call me some time with your surprise.” He pats Armie’s back. “I’m proud of you. Even if it’s hard I really think you’re doing the right thing.” They step apart and Nick smiles at him. “Just a few more hours and you’re back where you belong.” He winks. He doesn’t mean New York and they both know it. Harper is still pouting but hungry enough that the promise of food makes her postpone further tantrums for now. “You can call anytime, man. Anytime.” Nick makes sure to say before they separate completely.

Armie nods at him and sniffles as they walk away, Harper's hand in one of his, the stroller being pushed with his other. Going through security is harder than he anticipates, but it's amazing what being famous and TSA Pre-checked will get you, so he has more help than he finds he needs. Harper starts talking nonstop about dinner and he'd find it annoying if he wasn't so relieved that she wasn't screaming, so he lets her choose where they go. When they finally sit down, he's already exhausted. He shoots a text to Nick thanking him again, and then one to Elizabeth to tell her the kids had eaten and to just let him know if and when she wanted to FaceTime them in the next two weeks. He thinks of texting Timmy, but decides to wait. "Hey Hops, remember when I said there's a surprise in New York?" She looks up quickly, a french fry mid bite, her eyes wide and head nodding. "Want to know what—okay, okay calm down," he laughs when she stands up on her chair excitedly. She asks over and over what it is, throwing out guesses that couldn't be farther off, and he smiles. "We're going to stay with my friend. Can you guess who? I'll give you a hint—he always plays tea party with you and dances with you in the kitchen." He watches her go through people in her mind and thinks it's adorable when she concentrates like this.   
"Tim!" she shouts, her hands pressing down hard on the table. "Timmy! Daddy! It's Timmy!" He smiles and nods, takes a short video of her excitement and sends it to him. _just told her where we're staying. I think she's okay with it haha_ he says.

Timmy smiles and nearly tears up when he gets the video. He can feel the memory and the looming arrival get to him. He takes a moment to collect himself before recording a video of himself waving and saying “can’t wait to see you, Hops.” He sends it and pulls up the next folder of pictures of Armie, Ford and Harper during his stays in Los Angeles. There are quite a few and they are all filled with bright smiles to the brim. Then there are those of the kids sleeping or one of them trying to calm them down. It’s not like Timmy has never helped taking care of them. “Soon.” He whispers. “Soon.”

Armie shows Harper the video and she rewatches it a few times before he takes his phone back. "Hops, I have to tell you something and I need you to hear me, okay? We're staying at Timmy's apartment, that means sleeping there. If you don't like that, we can leave, at any time, okay?" She nods and asks if Timmy will be there when they get on the plane or after. "After," he smiles. "Did you hear me? If you don't want to stay with him we don't have to." She looks at him like he's crazy and asks if they can have pj parties with Timmy. Perhaps she wouldn't mind after all, he thinks. It didn't occur to him that she might miss him just as much, that he'd somehow become a part of her life without him even noticing the strength of the attachment.

They go to the terminal hand in hand, Ford already growing tired. He gives Harper a coloring book and some crayons while they wait and he holds Ford in his arms as he gets fussy. Time passes slowly, minutes like hours as he counts down. Soon they're being called to board and he feels light and heavy all over again, a mixed bag of emotions. The flight attendants help him get his kids settled in, and he's pleased to see Harper lean against his shoulder and ask for a blanket, knowing it means she's already anticipating sleep. Hopefully she'd sleep the entire flight and wake up to the New York sunrise. Ford sits on his lap with tired eyes, just restless enough to make Armie concerned that he won't sleep at all. He cuddles his teddy bear and leans against Armie's chest, making soft noises occasionally as people pass, but drifting off before long.

It's more than he can take sometimes, the love he has for his children. There would be these moments where everything felt not perfect necessarily, but _right._ There was nothing he loved more than his kids, their sleepy eyes and smiles warming him more than the California sun ever could. Harper tries to stay awake, but she's exhausted, too. Her coloring book starts to grow messier and messier as they prepare the cabin for takeoff, until finally she passes her crayons off to Armie and pulls her hair behind her ears with the palms of her little hands. He watches as she scoots closer to the window to watch, her blanket almost falling off her, the coloring book forgotten on the floor. He reaches out and tucks the fabric around her body and she scrunches up her shoulders to snuggle into it, patting his hand in some sort of thankful gesture that makes him smile. The next time he does this with them, he realizes, he might have Timmy with him to pull blankets over shoulders and carry sleeping babes. His head falls against his seat as the image washes over him, his chest rising and falling faster now.

He'd worried often about Timmy, not because he thought he wouldn't be a brilliant father—he knew from the day he met him that he would be amazing—but because this was a lot to put on someone who was that young. One kid, a baby, _maybe_ , but two? It was a lot. He'd always loved them like they were his though, a sign Armie should have picked up on the first time Harper visited in Italy and Timmy volunteered to help more than necessary. Had he always been trying to be a part of his family? Armie wishes he had allowed himself to believe the truth long ago. Perhaps then when he talked about Timmy being family it would have meant something else. Something more.

He tries not to get ahead of himself in hypotheticals, looking down at his son in his arms, thinking of Timmy teaching him to ride a bike just for the irony of it. "Daddy?" Harper says, turning to him and pressing a hand against his cheek with concerned eyes. He smiles and kisses her palm, wiping his eyes as he becomes aware of the tears, though he's not sure at what point he began crying. His entire life had built to this moment—every anxiety, every hesitation, every heartbreak. It all led to Tim.

He'd said once that they were soulmates, and Armie brushed it off. Destiny was something people told themselves was true when they needed something to validate their choices. He never believed in anything like that. Not until he met him, that is.

Meeting Timmy was like finally figuring out the subway, like the first day of warmth after a long winter, the sound of nylon strings on an acoustic guitar at night. Meeting Timmy was like being given a map when you didn't even realize you were lost. He was etched into every memory Armie had, not because he'd been there, but because he'd always been waiting behind the scenes. The first kiss he ever had set off a series of events that would lead him to Timmy. The first movie he ever saw, the first song he ever played on the guitar, the first time he fought back—it all led straight back to him.

He can trace the lines like cursive to find where it all started with Timmy, but the truth is, the only logical explanation was destiny.

So many things could have gone terribly wrong, deals falling through, his heart too closed off, any other director. He could have taken that other job, he could have not gotten The Social Network and never met Luca, Timmy could have never chosen acting as his focus in high school.

They'd been pulled together throughout their entire lives, little insignificant choices taking them one step closer to this moment where nothing could stop them from being in love. Maybe, just maybe, he had been right.

Maybe they were destined to meet, to fall, to catch each other.

Maybe, just maybe, they were soulmates.

Before it's too late, Armie pulls out his phone, takes a selfie with his children, and sends a single text before settling in for the flight.

_See you soon, sweet tea- I'm coming home._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for more... and in the meantime, check out our tumblrs!  
> lookingforatardis  
> charmie-inspiration


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